4x00 Heat Falls
by jane0904
Summary: After that finale, my take on what happens next, to help tide you over 'til fall! Multi-chapter. Who shot Beckett?  What does Castle do next?  Where does Esposito fit into all this? Read, enjoy, review!
1. Chapter 1

There were times when the world looked better from the bottom of a glass. A nice St Emilion, a crisp Chardonnay, a warmed brandy ... these were pleasures, and ones he didn't usually deny himself (except what he really wanted).

This was nothing about denial. At least in the sense of booze. What he wanted to deny was that it had ever happened, that he had ever had her blood on his hands ...

The whiskey slipped down his throat like the last one had, and he tried to drown out the memories.

A funeral. Somehow he always thought they should be held in the pouring rain, mournful dark clouds echoing the sadness of the occasion, the pastor's voice occasionally obliterated by a roll of thunder. At least this time the weather had accommodated him, and he wished he felt justified as rivulets of water ran down his face to soak into his already saturated clothes. Martha had tried to get him to stay under the large umbrella she and Alexis were using for shelter, but he'd politely (always polite, more so now) declined.

She'd shaken her head at him, but hadn't pressed it. It was as if she knew that if he stood out in the rain long enough maybe he'd be able to cry.

Last time _she'd_ been beside him, given the task of carrying Roy Montgomery to his last resting place among the heroes (no-one needs to know about this, and they'd stuck by it). Right up to the eulogy where she spoke about making a stand, and finding someone to stand beside her ... then she'd looked at him. Looked at _him_, as if it was for the first time, and she was accepting who he was.

If only he'd been quicker. If he'd known what the reflection meant, had put himself in the way of the bullet ... only he'd been too slow (always too slow).

The coffin felt heavier than the one before, which was crazy. He, Ryan and Esposito and three other cops (two were the same – only she was missing) had found it that much harder to carry, and as the rain drummed on the lid he wondered if he was ever going to be able to leave.

Yet all too soon (too long, too late) it was over, and Jim Beckett stood alone by the graveside, the carefully triangulated flag in his hands. Her father had aged a millennia in just a few days, and he didn't know what to say to him. People drifted away, some still sobbing quietly, and the overt police presence around the edges thinned and vanished (nobody was taking a chance this time – but that empty horse had already bolted).

He was the last to leave (almost), and only when Alexis tugged on his arm. The big black limousine had taken them quickly from the cemetery, but he couldn't stop looking back, seeing the man he was desperate to apologise to, but didn't have the words, still standing watch, lost amongst the tight-lipped dead.

The drive back was silent, but as they approached the loft, he told the driver to wait while his family got their cases. It was a measure of the shock they were all still in that neither Martha nor Alexis argued too much, at least not about going out of town.

"Darling, come with us," Martha almost pleaded. "It won't be good for you to be by yourself."

"I'll be fine." He dredged a smile up from somewhere. "Honestly."

"Richard –"

He took her hand in his. "Please, Mom." The depth of his emotion was clear in the so rare use of that term. "For me."

Martha had grumbled a little for the sake of form. "You know, if you just want time to yourself Alexis and I could always go and stay with Sabrina Wells. At least we'd still be in the city if you needed us."

"And have you and your old chorus line buddy complete Alexis's education far too quickly?" he joked (flat and not funny). "Sabrina'd have her making cocktails before you could blink."

"Everyone woman should know how to mix the perfect Mai Tai."

"It'll happen soon enough. And you both need a break."

"So do you."

"I'd only take it with me."

She'd sighed, pouted, then given in, recognising his stubbornness as something inherited.

Alexis, her long red hair tied back but gently curling from the damp air, just nodded. She knew her father, and when he was like this there was no point in trying to talk him out of it.

He'd waited until they were packed, the cases safely stowed, before hugging them both tightly. "Be good," he advised.

"And you call every day," Martha said firmly. "Or we'll be right back."

"No. You stay in the Hamptons until I ... until it's time." He pulled his daughter to him. "And not too much studying."

"Dad, the school might have been lenient, but I still have tests to take. And if Stanford calls ..." She stopped, aware of how sore the point still was (but not agonising like some things).

"It's okay, angel," he said, squeezing gently. "It's okay."

She looked at him, her old soul so obvious in her clear blue eyes, and he wondered when she'd grown up quite this much.

He'd watched until the car had disappeared around the corner, and only then allowed his shoulders to fall. Hurrying upstairs, he kicked his shoes away and stripped the now hated black suit and shirt from his body, throwing them into the corner with as much force as he could muster. He resisted the urge to stay in just his underwear, instead tugging on the t-shirt and soft pants he slept in, one of his many striped robes going on top.

The TV in the study went on full blast (good job he'd paid out for the extra soundproofing when Claudia had remodelled the place – God, was it really that long ago?), and five flavours of ice-cream were soon lined up on the kitchen counter. Except he wasn't listening, and only one or two spoonfuls were consumed before he lost interest. Ice-cream, the raunchy music video playing ... none of it was enough, not when he didn't want to forget, but to _not remember_.

He was more than halfway through the bottle of scotch before he realised that ice-cream and videos also didn't leave him with a hangover, but it was too late by then. And it still wasn't enough.

It replayed, over and over, like an old-fashioned record stuck in a groove.

_I love you. I love you._

He wished with all his heart he hadn't said it, hadn't given her a reason to live that she hadn't taken. Then he wouldn't have to realise that it would never be enough.

Slopping another two fingers of amber liquid into his glass (have to wipe that up later) he tossed it back and wondered when he was going to start feeling the effects.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Go away!" he shouted, but they couldn't have heard over the TV, because whoever it was knocked again, louder this time, more persistently, like an incontinent tap dancer.

Muttering about why they couldn't leave him in peace he managed to lever his body out of the soft armchair, steadied himself, then walked in a mostly straight line to the front door. He flung it open, proclaiming loudly, "Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying."

"Rick?"

He blinked hard, having to concentrate to see clearly. "Maggie?"

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> Okay, folks, before you all decide never to read any more of this, just hear me out. Maggie is only making a cameo, as you will see from the next chapter when the story really gets going. There is a reason she has to be here (as James Patterson was busy writing his next epic and didn't return my calls) and I hope it all makes sense as you continue. For those who don't know this OC, Maggie is an old friend of Rick's from his college years who is also a writer. She was in love with him for a long while, but is now with James Congreve (who you'd know if you'd read Blow The Man Down!).

Believe me, this story is about Rick, Kate and their relationship, not someone else's.

Oh, and the chapters will get longer, too!

Jane0904


	2. Chapter 2

"Maggie?" He blinked owlishly. "Aren't you on your honeymoon?"

"Yes, Rick. James and I are lying in the sun on a Seychelles beach right now." A J Maguire, known to her friends as Maggie, shook her head. One of Rick's oldest friends from his days at college, she was a highly successful author in her own right, and one of the last people he expected to be at his door.

"Must be seeing things then." He licked suddenly dry lips. "You know?"

"I know."

"How?"

"Rick, aren't you going to let me in?"

He leaned forward, taking in her rain-flattened black hair, the faint haze of redness around her green eyes ... "Have you been crying?"

She looked surprised. "Of course."

"Good for you." He turned on his heel and stalked unsteadily away. "I can't."

From her footsteps and the slam of the front door she'd followed him inside, but he ignored her as he reached for the whiskey again. Except she was quicker, plucking it from his alcohol-slowed fingers.

"I think you've had enough."

"No." He swiped for the bottle but missed by a mile. "Not enough. Never enough."

"Smells like you've been bathing in it." She shook her head. "Rick, this isn't you. Please don't do this to yourself."

"I loved her!" He turned on her, his blue eyes blazing. "I loved her! I told her, and she still died!" There. He'd said it. Used the 'd' word.

"I know." Maggie was fighting to stop her own tears. "I know, Rick." She reached for him, offering comfort, but he stepped back.

"Is that why you're here?" he asked angrily. "Thinking you could take her place?"

She swallowed visibly, and guilt swelled inside him.

"No."

"Oh, God, Mags, I'm sorry," he mumbled out, using his own pet name for her. "I didn't mean –"

"I know."

"Maggie –"

He was going to pour it all out, tell her everything that had happened, but she interrupted. "Except you _do_ smell like a distillery," she said, picking up the whisky bottle cap and screwing it firmly back on. "I'll make some coffee while you shower, then we'll talk."

"I don't want to talk," he groused, sounding like a contrary little boy, especially considering he had intended doing just that, but he headed for his bedroom nevertheless, although something occurred to him as he reached the door. "Where _is_ James?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder at her.

"At home. Waiting for me." She waved both hands at him in the classic 'shooing' motion. "Go. Shower."

"I'm going, I'm going," he muttered. "Anyone would think you owned the place."

* * *

><p>The hot water felt good, sloughing away the chill from the rain earlier, but the comfort didn't go more than skin deep. He stood with his hands against the tiles, letting it run down his shoulders, chest, dripping around his feet, but he couldn't get the energy to wash, just waited for it to clean him of its own accord.<p>

He'd heard the TV go off, knowing Maggie was probably straightening things here and there, just for something to do while the coffee perked.

He was glad she was here, no matter what he said. And he didn't truly believe she was trying to take Kate's place. What they had now was different, more like a brother and sister relationship, and that was better. And considering his usual relationships, would probably last longer.

Kate. He'd hoped theirs would stand the test of time, if he could ever get his thumb out of his ass and tell her. Except he had. And it hadn't been enough.

If only. If. He hated that damn word. So many possibilities all blown away with a bullet. And so many reasons to hate himself. If he hadn't realised there was a third cop ... if he hadn't let himself be taken hostage by Dick Coonan ... if he hadn't looked into her mother's case ... if he hadn't assumed she wouldn't mind him following her, turning her life into a book ... into a death.

He closed his eyes tightly, trying to screen out everything except for the water drumming on his scalp. The trouble was, that brought up different memories, older, but in the light of the past few days, just as painful.

She'd been in the shower, that time. When he figured out the killer wasn't who they thought it was, that he was after Kate, that there was only so much time left in which to save her ...

And he had. Saved her. Called her, made her understand, gave her time to throw herself into the tub before the bomb went off. Saved her.

Only he hadn't. Hadn't been quick enough this time. Hadn't pulled the cat out of the bag and pushed her away. Hadn't taken the bullet himself so that she could lean over _him_, her face close enough to kiss, her voice begging him to stay with her ...

His stomach rolled, and he was only just in time to step out of the shower stall and hunker over the toilet before his body rebelled, trying to rid itself of the alcohol, the anger, the guilt. Again and again, until there was nothing left but dry heaves, and still he stayed hunched over, not noticing the arms around him, holding him while he shuddered, not noticing the hot tears splashing from his eyes onto his skin.

"It's okay," Maggie whispered, stroking his bare back, ignoring his nakedness. "It's okay."

* * *

><p>Eventually, redressed and wrapped in yet another striped towelling robe, he sat on the sofa and held tightly to the mug of hot coffee. WRITER, it said on it, but right now he doubted he'd ever put pen to paper ever again.<p>

He peered at Maggie. "Why are you here?"

"You needed me."

He'd missed the way she said it, so simple. Since she got involved with James, Maggie had not been exactly distant, but certainly not around as much. Still ... "I meant how."

"Martha called. And Alexis. Separately."

"They never can keep out of my private life." He sipped the coffee, feeling the almost too hot liquid soothe his ravaged throat.

"It's theirs too." She hitched one leg beneath her. "It's taken me this long to arrange the flights. And you should have been the one to call."

"I didn't want to spoil things for you."

"Then or when we got back, it was never going to be good."

"No." He gazed at her. "Where is James?"

"At home."

The tone of her voice gave him a clue. "Did you already tell me that?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I'm fully expecting you to ask again before the alcohol's out of your system."

"I'll try not to."

There was silence for nearly a minute, Rick taking occasional mouthfuls of his drink, Maggie ignoring hers, before she spoke again. "I'm so sorry."

"Not your fault." _Mine_, he wanted to add.

"Or yours." She always had been able to read his mind, right back from when he'd been afraid to tell her about Kyra.

"Maggie, I don't –"

She wouldn't let him finish. Instead she interrupted, saying in an almost normal voice, "You know, if this was one of your books – or mine – Kate would walk through that door right now and tell you off for believing the worst."

"I suppose." He knew what she was doing, trying to make him feel something other than just sorry for himself, even if it was anger at her.

"Because we'd have written it as a ploy, a fake, making it so that she could investigate on her own without having to ... what?"

He'd sat up slowly, putting the mug down on the table. "It was a closed casket funeral."

"What?"

Her words had started some kind of cascade in his mind, and now he had to follow it. "Her father said it was what she would have wanted, but ... she'd never mentioned it."

She was confused. "Why would she?"

"And they wouldn't let me see her, not in the hospital."

It struck home, and her face paled. "Okay, no, that's not what I meant. I'm not suggesting it's true, Rick. It was just something to say."

He wasn't listening. "Only through a window, from the viewing room."

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?" Maggie asked, her expression verging on the appalled.

"They went for the chest, Mags. Not the head. A pro goes for the head, because it's the only way to be sure." He was starting to get animated. "And who takes out their target with all those cops about? There are easier places, easier times. Leaving her apartment, going shopping, doing laundry –"

Maggie shifted quickly from her chair to sit next to him, taking hold of his hands. "Rick. Stop. This is crazy. It's the booze talking."

"No, it isn't." His eyes fixed on hers, anguish making them tear a little. "And Kate wasn't ... _isn't_ stupid, she'd be wearing a vest. Out there, in the open, she'd be wearing protection."

"Rick –"

"It's possible," he whispered. "And for just a little while longer, I have to hold onto something."

She gazed at him for the space of a brace of heartbeats, then nodded slowly. "Okay. Let's talk this through. You tell me what happened."

In halting tones he recalled, yet again, the events of the day nearly a week before, when his world fell apart. His voice nearly failed him as he got to the part where he was leaning over Kate, begging her to stay with him, and his empty stomach clenched painfully once more.

"And then?"

"Ambulance. The EMTs worked for a long while before they got her inside, took her to the hospital." He couldn't see the blood on her dress uniform, but her white gloves were stained red.

"Who was the attending?"

"Josh Davidson."

"Her boyfriend?" Maggie's eyebrows raised. "What was his reaction?"

"Anger. Mostly." Rick tried to remember, trying to put his own feelings out of the way. "He came out and told us. Said there was no ..." He stopped, gathered himself. "He took Jim Beckett in, but the rest of us had to stay outside."

"That makes sense. Close family only."

"But equally if they were faking it."

"I suppose," Maggie conceded. "If you're at all right – and I don't know what to think – she wouldn't want her dad to think she was dead."

His face hardened for a moment. "She let me think it!"

"We don't know anything different, not yet. Rick, breathe."

He nodded, taking air into oxygen starved lungs. "No, you're right. From what Kate told me, about after her mother died, her dad went to pieces. Started drinking." His eyes flickered towards the bottle of scotch.

"You're not that kind of person," Maggie assured him.

"I might be."

"When Kyra left for London, you poured it all into a book," she pointed out.

"I also married Meredith."

"Nobody's perfect."

He had to smile, even if it was gone as quickly. "Got that right."

Maggie reached for her coffee and took a comforting sip before getting back to business. "Okay. So if you're right – and I'm not saying you are – Jim Beckett had to know. And by the same token so did Josh. And an ME, or else they'd never be able to get a certificate."

"Lanie didn't. I'd swear to that." He'd seen the look afterwards, and at the funeral. There was no way she'd faked that.

"Then another one."

"Perlmutter?"

"What's a –"

"Another ME." His forehead furrowed. "Except he's a stickler for the rules. Although ..."

"Go on. I suppose you can't stop now."

"He likes Kate."

"Likes?"

"Yes, likes. Present tense. And I mean as in a crush. At least according to Ryan and Esposito." He jerked. "Ryan and Esposito."

"What about them?"

"One of them had to be in on it. Kate can't hope to figure out who's behind this without eyes and ears in the precinct."

"Which one?"

Rick didn't even pause. "Esposito."

"Not Ryan?"

"Always was a bad liar."

He thought back to the single appearance he'd put in at the precinct since ... _then_. Ryan had looked like he'd been crying, which he quite possibly had although nobody was about to comment on it, and a woman he didn't recognise was in Montgomery's ... the captain's office. When he'd asked who she was Esposito had been uncharacteristically short.

"Gabrielle Cleaves."

"What?"

"She's from the 15th."

"New captain?"

"Caretaking." Esposito obviously didn't want to talk about it. "Are we going to clean Beckett's desk or not?"

That was why he was there, but Rick had felt a deep sense of shock at Esposito's apparent insensitivity. He'd put it down to being the only way the detective could cope, but maybe hindsight made things a little clearer. Still, it had been so hard packing Kate's stuff away into archive boxes that he hadn't really thought about it. He'd snuck one of the tiny elephants into his pocket – he supposed he'd have to give that back if the miracle was real.

Maggie was reaching for the phone.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Calling him."

"Who?"

"Esposito."

"Why?"

"Because you have to know for sure. And if you're wrong, you have to ..."

"What? Get over it?" A trace of harshness was back in his voice.

"No." She shook her head sadly. "Never that. Not the way you feel. But maybe start to live with it."

He rested back on the couch and stared into nothing. "Am I totally insane?"

"Not totally." She flickered a smile. "Now, what's the number?"

A thought occurred to him. "Wait, Mags. What if someone's listening?"

"You mean like a bug?"

"Or a wire tap." He glanced around the apartment, as if expecting bad guys with Uzis to appear from the corners. "Whoever's the big bad – and we know there is one, Montgomery said so – he's powerful. And electronic surveillance wouldn't be that hard if you had enough money."

"Well I wasn't intending to ask outright, anyway. Or suggest he comes here."

"Then where?"

"Some place ... neutral. And I know exactly the right spot. Now, give me the number."

Rick stared at her, but picked his cell up from the table. After a moment's fiddling (his fingers didn't quite seem to be under his control yet) he managed to get to the screen he wanted and held it out.

Squinting slightly Maggie read it twice then entered it on the keypad.

* * *

><p>The Old Haunt was reasonably full, the early evening crowd swelling the regulars who seemed to spend their days in the pub. Not that they were spared more than a second glance.<p>

Rick leaned on the bar. "Is he here?"

Brian nodded. "Back booth."

"Thanks."

"Anything to drink?"

"Not this time."

"Ah. Not to be disturbed, then?"

"Not even if it's the end of the world." Which it could be if Esposito gave the wrong answer. Rick swallowed.

Maggie touched his arm. "Rick? Are you okay?"

"Just hoping."

"Look, it's more than likely we're wrong. This is so slim it's more than anorexic."

"I know. But I'm praying we're right." He straightened his jacket. "Come on."

He led the way to the rear of the premises, his eyes glancing as always to the photo of himself on the wall, but this time it was only habit and he didn't see it. Instead he and Maggie slid into the booth, whether by accident or design blocking Esposito's immediate escape route.

Esposito was nursing an untouched glass of what smelled like bourbon, but it didn't appear drinking was on his mind. His entire demeanour was brooding, thoughtful.

"Hi," Rick said quietly.

"Hi." Esposito turned Maggie. "Good honeymoon?"

"For the most part," she admitted.

"I hope you took a lot of pictures."

"Thousands. All to be carefully edited before anyone sees them."

A slow smile graced his face. "Those kind, huh?"

"Not at all."

"I was surprised to get your call."

"I just got back, and Rick filled me in."

Esposito nodded, the darkness surrounding him again. "Sorry to meet you again under these circumstances."

"It's those circumstances we want to talk to you about."

Esposito glanced from Rick then back to Maggie. "I don't know what you think I can tell you that you don't already know. I'm not working on the case – too close." He looked down into his glass. "Ryan and me are on desk duty, at least for the time being."

"If there's a case to work on."

"What are you talking about?" Esposito had lifted his head, his brows drawn together.

"Kate. What happened to her. Or didn't."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I think you do, Javier."

Rick was staring at him, allowing Maggie to steer the conversation, giving him time to search the detective's face for something, for anything that might support their wild suppositions. And found it. "Shit."

"What?" Esposito repeated, his expression almost threatening.

"She's alive."


	3. Chapter 3

"Kate's alive," Rick repeated, barely vocalising.

"Bro, I think you've had enough already," Esposito said, shaking his head and turning away from them.

"Javier. Please." Using his first name, knowing it would show how desperate he was.

Esposito turned the glass in front of him through ninety degrees, once, twice, then again. "Keep your voice down."

"Then tell me."

"What good will it do? I tell you she's dead, that you saw her die, and what good will it do?"

"If that was the truth, no good at all," Rick conceded. "But it's not the truth. She didn't die, did she?" He waited a moment then put his hand on Esposito's arm. "Did she?"

The detective finally looked up, his gaze going from Rick to Maggie and back. "No," he said quietly.

Rick felt something hard unknot in his belly. "Where is she?"

"Somewhere safe."

"I need to see her."

"No."

"I'll be discreet. I just –"

Esposito shook his head. "You're Rick Castle. You couldn't be discreet if your life depended on it."

"Please."

"Can't you just take my word for it?"

"Normally I would. I trust you. For a given level of trust, of course, considering."

Esposito smiled slightly, but it was fleeting. "You think it's better to see for yourself."

"Exactly."

"You realise it's not safe."

"I'll take the risk."

"For her, not you. The more people who know, the more likelihood they'll find out."

"They? Who are they?"

Esposito glanced at Maggie for some reason, but didn't answer. Instead he pushed the untouched drink away from him. "I need to make a call." He glared at Rick until he slid out from the booth, allowing the detective to get up. "Stay here." He stalked towards the stairs leading down to the basement office, pulling a cellphone from his pocket.

"Think he's going to make a run for it?" Maggie asked, keeping her voice low.

"No. Not now. There's no point." Rick sat down again. "Maggie, go home. In fact, leave the city."

"You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?" She sounded resigned, with just a soupcon of indulgence.

"Probably. Please, Mags."

"I can help, Rick."

"No." He leaned forward. "Javier was right. It isn't safe. There's already been too many deaths connected with this, and I really don't want to be going to another funeral any time soon."

"Me neither," she agreed. "Least of all yours."

"I'll be careful."

"That's what you said the time you stole that police horse."

"Borrowed." He fixed her with his blue eyes, almost black in the low lighting. "Please, Mags. For me."

She sighed dramatically. "Well, I was going to LA for a couple of weeks when I got back from honeymoon, to do my 'technical adviser' bit on the film."

"Did you just do air quotes?"

"No."

"Must be seeing things."

"Must be." She waited only a beat. "I can probably persuade James to come with me. Go early, have a few days more alone together."

"Good. And stay away until I call."

"So not just stupid, but dangerous too."

"I don't know what I'm going to do," he admitted. "I'm winging it right now, and until I see Kate, face to face ..." He swallowed. "I just need to know you're safe."

"You don't believe him?" She was surprised.

"Kate's alive. That I believe." He couldn't explain the weight that had been lifted from his shoulders, but maybe the expression on her face suggested he didn't have to. "But whatever's going on isn't over."

"Rick, I don't understand."

He hadn't told her. When Esposito had glanced at Maggie, that questioning look in his eyes, Rick knew it was because he had no idea how much the woman knew about what was really going on. About Montgomery's betrayal. And the truth was, as far as Maggie was concerned, this was about getting too close to a cop killer, and not about the real reasons behind Johanna Beckett's death.

"Mags, the man who killed Roy Montgomery ..." _No. Safer not to tell her_, he thought. _Safer for her. _"He was hired by someone else, and if I know Kate she's's going to go after him." _The truth, but not all of it._

She gazed at him, and he could tell she knew he was holding something back. He tried to look as honest as possible, praying that any little tick or nuance she picked up she'd assume was only because of the alcohol still in his body.

"Okay," she said finally. "When you're ready, you tell me." So she hadn't been convinced. "I'll take James away. Tell him something or other, even if he's not going to believe me, any more than I believe you."

"Maggie –"

"I said I'd go." She leaned forward, taking his hands in hers. "But if you need me, you call. We'll be at my house in the hills, so if you need anything ... _anything_ at all ... you pick up the phone and you call. Okay?"

His lips lifted. "Okay. And thanks, Mags."

"Don't thank me. Not yet. I'm just getting to the point where I'm really angry at you and Kate, and I don't see that changing any time soon."

"Hey, have to be alive to get angry at."

"Mmn."

Esposito stepped back into the light of the bar. "Okay."

Rick was on his feet in almost indecent haste. "I can see her?"

"Against my better judgement, but ... yeah."

"Now?"

"Does this place have a back door?"

The apparent non-sequitur threw Rick for a moment, then he realised. "There's a delivery entrance. But if you're really worried someone might be watching, we can go out through the tunnels." The secret access to the sewers, used during Prohibition by one of New York's more colourful Mayors.

"Fine. You go that way – I'll meet you with the car on the west side of Gramercy Park, when I've made sure nobody's tailing me." He picked up his jacket. "I hope you know what you're doing, Castle."

"So do I."

"Five minutes." He nodded at Maggie then strode out.

"Better?" she asked.

Rick nodded, sitting down again, but on the very edge of the seat. "Oddly enough, yes."

"Don't feel like finishing that drink?" She gestured towards the abandoned glass.

He grimaced. "I'd probably throw up again."

"Something to eat would be a good idea."

"Yeah, maybe." He knew what they were doing. Just an inane conversation to cover how they really felt. "Thanks, Mags."

"What for?"

"Being here. Making me think."

"Hey, you put it all together."

"You suggested it."

"As a joke."

"Your sense of humour always was a bit strange."

"You should know, you always encouraged me." She smiled, then reached out and took his hand again. "I'm glad. About Kate."

"Me too." He glanced at his watch. It was nowhere near five minutes, but he knew he wasn't going to last that long. "Maggie, I ..."

She nodded and released him. "Go. And don't do anything too stupid."

"I'll try not to."

"And tell her how you feel."

"I thought you told me not to do anything stupid?"

"Oh, Rick, I think it's way too late to worry about that." She shooed him away. "Go on. Get going. Before you explode."

He stood up, then on impulse leaned over and kissed her lightly. "Stay safe," he whispered.

"You too. Because if you get killed, don't expect me to come and dance at your funeral."

"I thought that was weddings."

"I'm feeling maudlin."

He smiled, kissed her again, this time on the cheek, then almost ran out.

Maggie stood up slowly and walked to the bar.

Brian, the bartender, looked up. "Can I get you something?"

"Scotch. Single malt. A double."

"Coming up."

"Oh, and ..." She reached into her pocket, pulling out a business card. "When I've had enough, will you call my husband and tell him to come and get me?"

"Sure thing." Brian grinned, before turning to get her drink.

Maggie leaned on the counter and looked around at the other patrons, her eyes finally fixing on the photo on the wall. Rick Castle, looking young and, if not innocent, then perhaps not as world weary. Arms crossed, smug, ready to take on the world. "Rick, you be careful," she murmured, just a breath through her lips. "Be very, very careful."

* * *

><p>Esposito drove them to a parking garage in the business district.<p>

"She's here?" Rick asked, surprised, as they emerged onto the street.

"No." Esposito turned towards a subway station on the other side of the road. "I'm just being careful."

"In case we're being followed?"

"Yes."

"Is that likely?"

"Better to be safe than sorry." He looked both ways then dodged between the traffic.

Rick was at his heels. "Are you angry with me?"

As they reached the sidewalk, Esposito turned on him, his face darker than normal. "You're putting her at risk."

"She should have told me."

"And what would you have done?"

"I'd have helped."

"Which is exactly why she didn't tell you." He stopped as a small crowd of late workers pushed past, heading down the subway steps. "Castle, the captain's already dead. Do you really think Beckett could cope with you getting hurt too?"

Esposito's words dripped into his brain. It hadn't honestly occurred to him that she might not want him involved because she cared. "Really?"

"For a man who's supposed to be this best-selling author you can be spectacularly stupid sometimes."

"My mother says the same thing."

"You should listen to her. Mothers are usually right."

"Now I _know_ you've met mine."

Esposito rolled his eyes, something he'd obviously picked up somewhere, and headed down into the subway station. As they took the northbound line Rick tried to engage his friend in conversation, but the detective became more taciturn than ever, and he gave up, sitting in silence and watching the other passengers.

A young man sprawled opposite, his jeans and jacket ripped at the knee and elbow but wearing expensive sneakers, buds in his ears not quite keeping the music inside. He probably had a seven figure trust fund, and still didn't know what to do with his life.

Further along a woman in a business suit was reading the Wall Street Journal, her prim expression and upright posture just screaming that she wasn't to be trifled with. She reminded Rick, though, of the dominatrix he'd met, all black leather and red lipstick, and for a long – and admittedly, rather enjoyable – moment he imagined this woman in just such an outfit, delivering chastisement to a man on his hands and knees, at least until his imagination had the man lift his head, and it was like looking in a mirror.

He coughed slightly and moved on to the man clutching a briefcase and a shopping bag to his chest, the head of a stuffed giraffe just poking out. His kid's birthday, perhaps, and he was already late to the party.

The ones who made Rick's heart ache, though, were the young couple in the corner of the carriage by the connecting door, so wrapped up in each other that a bomb could have gone off and they would hardly notice. Probably not much older than Alexis, he had his arm holding her tightly to his side, while her hand was on his face as they whispered nothings into each other's mouths. It was probably their youth, but they didn't mind people seeing how much they were in love. Not like certain people he knew. People like himself.

_No. Don't go down that route, Ricky,_ he told himself. _No point in thinking about all the time you've wasted, the months not telling her how you felt until it was too late._ Except now there'd been a reprieve. Shaking his head slightly, he let it drop between his shoulders and tried to think on nothing at all, relying on Esposito to pull him back to reality before they reached their stop.

* * *

><p>The hotel was ... well, using the word 'seedy' was probably being too kind.<p>

Rick looked up at its six floors of dirty, stained windows in almost appalled fascination. "Here?"

Esposito shrugged. "Would you look for Beckett somewhere like this?"

"Uh ... no. I can honestly say it's the last place I'd look. If I was looking."

"You figured it out. They might."

"Yes, but that's because ..." He closed his mouth tightly, trying to stop the words spilling out.

"You love her." Esposito's face was gentle for once.

"I didn't say that."

"You did. To her."

"I thought she was dying."

"Still said it." A ghost of a smile haunted his face. "And thanks. I won the pool."

"Great. Evens out the fact that I won over you and Lanie."

The glare from the Latino detective should have been enough to melt Rick into the sidewalk, but instead he just turned on his heel and led the way inside.

There was a tiny, currently empty booth with a counter off to the right, twenty or more tagged keys hooked onto the wall behind. A registration book, stained with what Rick hoped was just coffee, was open at one of the middle pages, but a quick glance suggested nobody had signed in for weeks.

"Elevator isn't working," Esposito said, heading for the stairs at the back.

"Why am I not surprised?" Rick followed, and by the time they rounded the final corner on the fourth floor he knew that all that booze on an empty stomach had been a very, _very_ bad idea.

Esposito walked along the moth-eaten hall runner, stopping outside a door with the number 42 on it.

"Life, the universe, and everything," Rick murmured to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The detective lifted his hand to knock, then paused. "Castle, things aren't ... quite what you think."

"Kate's alive. That's all that counts."

"Then why don't you go home right now?"

"I ..." He licked his lips. "Javier, if this was Lanie, wouldn't you need to see her in person?"

Esposito nodded, just once. "Okay." He knocked, a complicated rap that sounded suspiciously like _shave and a haircut_ with a few extra twiddles.

The faint patch of light from the spy-hole was blocked as someone on the inside checked, then there was the sound of bolts being drawn back. The door opened, just a crack, but whoever it was had left the chain on.

"Esposito?" A man's voice, sounding ever so slightly familiar.

"Yeah. Let me in."

A moment more while the chain was unhooked, then the door opened fully, and the last person Rick expected to see was outlined against the fading day. "Josh?"

Doctor Motorcycle Boy in the flesh.

"Castle." Josh Davidson looked him up and down, his natural smoothness making Rick feel about a hundred. "I suppose you'd better come in."

"Good idea." Rick slipped past him into the room, looking around him but not seeing Kate. "Wow," he said. "Nice digs."

"You're being facetious."

"God, yes." It was what probably passed for the Presidential Suite in this hotel, with a separate bedroom and bathroom, but still Rick didn't want to know why the dark brown carpet beneath his shoes felt ... tacky. "Where is she?"

"Here, Castle."

He span on his heel, and it was like all his Christmases, birthdays and book launches had come at once. There she was, standing in the doorway to the bedroom, dressed in an over-size t-shirt that hung from one shoulder, and soft stretch leggings. Not that he cared what she was wearing.

"Kate." He couldn't help himself. Despite Josh standing not more than five feet away, he swept Kate into his arms and held her tight.

She returned the embrace, her hands splayed against his back. "Castle." Then she groaned.


	4. Chapter 4

"Kate." He held her tight.

"Castle." Then she groaned.

He let go immediately. "Kate?"

She stepped back, hunched over a little. "I'm okay." She back up into an armchair, sitting down slowly, her hand pressed to her chest under her left breast.

"You mean you were really ..." He couldn't say the word.

"Shot. Yes." Kate relaxed a little.

"You should be in the hospital," he insisted.

"That's what I keep telling her," Josh put in. "But you know our Kate."

"Yes. Yes, I do." _Our_ Kate. Oh, he wanted to do something about that, preferably to do with his fist in the good doctor's perfect face, but he kept that thought tightly under wraps.

"I was in the hospital," she said. "And now I'm not." Looking from one to the other she added, "And I'm fine."

"You're getting better." Josh went down on his heels next to her, his hand on hers. "But you're not fine yet."

"It wasn't that bad."

"If the bullet hadn't deflected along a rib –"

"But it did." She took her hand from under his and pushed her hair back behind her ear. "I'll be okay."

"I can take a look, make sure you didn't –"

"It's okay," she assured him. "Castle was just a little ... overenthusiastic."

"If you're sure." At her nod he stood up and stepped away. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he added, giving them space to talk.

She nodded and smiled a little as he backed out of the room, Esposito taking up a position by the door.

Most of Kate's attention, though, was on Rick. "Hi," she said, needing to fill the empty space between them.

"Hi."

"You okay?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"Physically I'm fine, if a little drunk still. Otherwise ... I am really confused," Rick said slowly.

"You?" She gazed at him. "The famous Richard Castle? Confused."

"Yes. Ecstatic that you're not actually six feet under, but yes. Confused. If this isn't all I thought it was ... how did you ..."

A voice came from the bedroom. "That would be me."

He turned and came face to face with a woman he recognised all too well.

Jordan Shaw. Cool, collected, poised, beautiful as ever, and probably the last person Rick expected to see (although he was getting used to being surprised by now, and wondered idly who was the next 'last person' on that list about to turn up).

"Well, I'll be ..."

"Probably." Jordan smiled slightly. "You've earned it. And close your mouth, there's a train coming."

His jaw slammed shut. "So you're behind all this?"

"All what?" She shrugged slightly. "I'm merely visiting an injured friend."

"A supposedly _dead_ friend," Rick pointed out, then turned back to Kate. "Which, by the way, we're going to be having words about."

"That I don't doubt," Kate said.

His blue-eyed glare went back to Jordan. "You arranged it all? The hospital, the funeral ... all of it?"

The FBI agent nodded. "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because contrary to popular opinion, the FBI isn't stupid. And I've been keeping an eye on things since we met over the nutbar."

Her name for the serial killer, Scott Dunn, who'd been obsessed with Nikki Heat. Who'd bombed Kate's apartment in an attempt to kill her ...

Rick swallowed, and wondered vaguely whether he was becoming just a little psychic, since he'd been thinking about that only a few hours earlier. "So?" he encouraged.

"So I read Detective Beckett's file at the time. _All_ of it. Her mother, Coonan, then Raglan, MacAllister ... the coincidences kept piling up, and I hate coincidences. Then came the shooting of Lockwood and your captain and, well, I put two and two together, and came up with a trace."

"Trace."

"Information." She leaned forward. "Castle, no matter how quiet you try and keep things, they have a habit of getting out. After all, you're here."

"That was ..." He stopped, not about to admit how frantically he'd held onto the potential lifeline. "A guess," he finished lamely.

"Mmn." She fixed him with her clear gaze. "I'd wonder about that if I didn't know just how good your mind is at mixing things up into a totally new picture."

"And Kate?"

The woman herself stirred. "Jordan approached me. Told me about the intel."

"And you didn't tell me?" His anger was rising again. "Kate, I'm your partner! More than that!"

"I told her not to," Jordan interrupted quietly. "The least number of people involved the better in this type of operation."

"And you let her go to the funeral, give the eulogy, all the while knowing ..." Something clicked in his brain. "So the assassin was really real? Not a set up?"

"I'm afraid so." Jordan sat down in one of the chair by the table and crossed her legs, her skirt riding up a little. "Totally real."

"No set up, Castle," Kate said softly. "Do you really think I'd let someone shoot at me? Even wearing a vest?"

"I ... don't know." He felt his world start to spin. "I thought ... when I saw the blood ... but something felt was screwy."

"So Esposito said." She shook her head at him. "You shouldn't have got Maggie involved."

"It was more the other way around." He watched her settle herself against the back of the chair, and couldn't help but see the wince on her face. "Wouldn't you be better lying down?"

"Are you propositioning me?" she asked in turn.

"No, I ... of course not!"

"That's okay, then." She dropped her head, but not before he saw the smile on her face. "And it hurts just as much when I'm in bed."

_Hurts_. He wondered why it was so hard to believe she had actually been shot, when she was here, in front of him. "I thought ..."

Jordan took pity on him. "That it was all a set-up?" She shook her head. "We considered it, taking a potshot at Kate and making out that someone else had decided to take advantage of the situation, but in the end it didn't seem feasible. And a situation like that, the funeral, so many cops ... we wouldn't have anyway."

"They did."

"They're desperate." Jordan sighed. "And in all honesty we didn't expect it," she admitted. "Not there, not then. But Kate's been wearing one of our latest bullet resistant vests ever since we met four days before Montgomery's funeral."

Four days. She'd gone to lunch with an old friend, teasing him without humour by implying it was a previous lover. When she'd got back, though, things felt ... off. Well, more off than before. He'd asked her about it, but she'd said it was only the events of the past week playing on her mind. He'd backed off, not wanting to push it. But from that point he felt out of the loop, sidelined, as if there was something she wasn't telling him. Seemed like he was right. But ... "Bullet resistant?"

"Nobody says bulletproof any more. Considering the type of ammo out there now, that would be the height of hubris."

"But she was still hurt."

"The vest did what it was designed to do, to take the force out of the projectile by flattening it, and the ballistic shockplate deflected it away from the heart across her ribs."

Rick looked at Kate. "That's why you were bleeding."

"It hurt the same," she admitted, her hand still tucked under her arm. "Just not quite as permanent."

"So the vest –"

"Saved my life."

"Thank you," he said quietly to Jordan, but with total conviction.

The FBI agent smiled. "You're welcome."

"Do you ... remember it?" Rick asked diffidently, turning back to Kate.

She shrugged. "Not really. I remember standing at the podium, talking, trying not to cry ... but after that it's pretty much a blur."

"You don't remember me talking to you?"

Her eyes were on his, two tiny lines of confusion between her brows. "No. What did you say?"

"Nothing," he dissembled. "Just telling you to hang on."

"Oh."

"But the rest?" He knew he was changing the subject, now desperate to avoid the elephant in the room of his words to Kate. "What about your dad?" He still couldn't get the image of her father standing by the graveside out of his head.

"He knows. I couldn't ..." She stopped for a moment, then went on, "I spent so long trying to save him after my mother died, I couldn't let him go back into that dark place."

"But it was okay for me to think you were dead. That you'd died in my arms. That was okay?" He got up, anger making him need to walk. "I thought you were in that fucking box!" He hardly ever swore, not like that.

"I know. And I'm sorry."

"Sorry? You think that's enough?" He wanted to stop the words, but somehow they just kept coming. "Do you have any idea how I felt?"

"Everyone had to believe it."

"What about Esposito?" He pointed at the detective. "_He_ knew. You let him in on your little plan."

"No. He didn't know until after. And there was no plan." She got up and stood in front of him, her hair mussed, her skin flushed. "You really think I wanted to get shot? Even wearing a vest, that would have been a really stupid idea, and not even worthy of one of your books."

"I didn't think so!"

"What?"

"I thought you were dead!" He took hold of her shoulders, as if holding her down might make things clearer. "Then when Maggie suggested you'd faked it all, I – "

"Maggie?"

"She cut short her honeymoon, came to the loft to make sure I was okay."

"She wasn't at the funeral."

"No, she ..." Rick stopped. "Wait. How do you know that?" His eyes widened. "Were you there?"

"I ..." She licked suddenly dry lips. "Yes," she said defiantly. "Yes, I was. Jordan thought I was being crazy, but ... it's not every day you get to see your own funeral."

Her shoulders might have become red hot the way he let go and staggered back. "You watched."

"Besides, I thought my killer might have shown up to gloat, and we'd have a way in."

"I can't believe ..." All that emotion, wave after wave of it, rolling around the graveside, his own family in tears because they thought it was real, his own guilt, the pain, and now knowing she was only a few yards from him ... all of it became too much. "I don't know you at all, do I?" he said quietly, before turning and striding out of the door.

"Castle." Her voice followed him, even if she couldn't. "Castle. Rick!"

* * *

><p>He walked. Kept on walking. He didn't know where, and didn't care, his shoulders hunched into his overcoat. The rain had stopped earlier, and the clouds overhead were breaking, allowing the last rays of the dying sun to angle onto the sidewalk, but he didn't notice.<p>

Everything was playing again in his mind, the hangar, Montgomery telling them what little he had, not giving a name, having to carry Kate outside so the man could make amends by killing Lockwood. Kate trying to hold herself together through those long days ... She felt guilty, he knew that. If she hadn't gone after the man who'd killed her mother, so many other people would still be alive. He'd tried to tell her it wasn't her, that it was the man who ordered the hits in the first place, but he wasn't sure she actually listened. Besides, it was all his fault, he knew that. Writing the damn Nikki Heat books in the first place.

The picture show continued in his mind. The funeral, the riderless horse, Kate giving the eulogy. There was no gunshot, he realised, just the sound of the bullet pushing the air aside, then he was on the ground next to her, begging her not to leave him, selfishly wanting her to live.

And she had. She was back there, in that crappy hotel, and all he could do was be angry that she hadn't told him.

He sat down on a bench advertising low cost legal services and put his elbows on his knees, his head dropped between his shoulders. He could blame the booze, of course. As much as Maggie had poured coffee into him – and throwing up had definitely helped – he was probably still legally drunk, and perhaps it was a combination of that and sheer relief that had made him walk out on her.

"God, Ricky," he murmured to himself, pushing his hands through his hair then down his face. "You really are an asshole."

A non-descript town car drew up next to him, and the driver side window rolled down. "Tantrum over?" Jordan asked.

He looked up. "Well, I was planning another ten minutes of sulking and banging my heels on the ground. Do you want to go around the block a couple more times?"

She rolled her eyes, an expression he was beginning to think women learned while getting their mother's milk. "Get in."

He got in. "Thanks."

"For what?" She glanced at him as she accelerated into traffic. "Coming after you? Or thinking you're an idiot?"

"Yes to the first. And ... I know, to the second."

"Good. Because I'd hate to think you considered that kind of behaviour acceptable." She overtook a slow moving delivery truck. "Besides, you started this, now you have to see it through."

"Started it?" His own thoughts echoed back again.

"No. I don't mean the writing," Jordan said, obviously reading his face as clearly as one of his books. "I mean figuring out she's alive."

Rick swallowed. There was that. She was alive. Heart beating sixty times a minute, blood pumping through miles of veins and capillaries ... alive. "See what through?"

"Catching the man who's behind this."

"We don't know who he is."

"Do you really think that's going to stop her?" She made a sound like _harrumph_. "And you have to be there, to make sure she's safe."

"I couldn't before."

"Then make up for it now."

He looked out of the window, then asked diffidently, "Was Kate ... is she ..."

"Mad? Yes."

"Ah."

"She also understands, which is more than most people would be."

"I've already agreed I'm an idiot."

"Just making sure you don't forget. She sent me, by the way."

"She did?" He brightened up a little.

"It was either me or 'Dr Motorcycle Boy'."

The emphasis she put on the last three words wasn't lost on him, and he couldn't help the smug smile that crossed his lips. "She said that?"

"Accidentally. And he wasn't in the room."

"That's a pity."

"Richard Castle, I never knew you could be so petty."

"Ask my mother." The smiled became more affectionate. "Or rather, don't. She'd be more than happy to list all my shortcomings."

"That's her job." She pulled up at a set of red lights. "Are you going to tell her?"

"Tell her what?"

"Castle, I might have got it slightly wrong when I profiled you and her before, about the pair of you sleeping together. But I know I'm not wrong now, so don't be obtuse."

Rick dropped in his seat. "She doesn't remember what I said."

"What did you say?" The light turned green and she pulled smoothly away.

"That ... that I loved her."

"Then tell her again."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because of Dr Motorcycle Boy."

"Why are you letting him stand in your way?"

"I'm not. Kate is."

"You really think she cares more about him than you?"

His lips set in a stubborn line. "He knew. That she was alive." He didn't mean to sound bitter, but it came out anyway.

Jordan signalled and drove the car into the underground garage beneath the hotel. She waited until she'd parked in a space and turned off the engine before reaching across and hitting him. "Idiot."

"Ow! What was that for?" He rubbed his bicep.

"Didn't it occur to you that Kate didn't tell you because she wanted you safe? _Because_ she cares?"

"That's what Esposito said, but –"

"What would you rather believe?"

"I thought she was dead." He wondered just how many times he was going to have to say it.

"And she isn't. You'd have found out eventually anyway, but since you forced the issue, just be happy about it."

"Oh, I am."

"You're not acting like it."

He opened his mouth to disagree, but what came out was, "You're right. I'm acting like a child who's had his favourite toy taken away from him."

"You've got it back. You've got _her_ back." She opened the door. "Now come and apologise."

* * *

><p>He felt like he had that time at prep school when he'd been caught smoking in the toilets. The Principal had given him a stern talking to, and an illustrated pamphlet on the perils of cigarettes – a very heavily, gorily illustrated pamphlet. He hadn't touched a cigarette since. "Sorry."<p>

Kate, her arms wrapped around herself, framed in the light from the window, nodded. "Accepted. And ... I understand. I let you believe the worst. Even if it was for your own good."

He had to smile. Kate wasn't going to apologise, not if it meant having to admit she was maybe wrong. But it was close enough. "Okay."

Josh interrupted, bustling back into the room. "Come on, Kate. Time to change that dressing."

"It's fine," she said, barely glancing at him.

"No, it's not. I don't want you getting an infection. You were damn lucky, but I don't want that luck to run out." He beckoned her. "Come on. I've got it all set out in the bathroom."

Kate's expression changed for a moment into annoyance, but it cleared quickly. "Fine. But you be gentler taking the tape off this time." She stood up and preceded him out of the room.

"When am I not?" he said, following her.

Jordan's phone trilled from her handbag and she got up to answer it.

Rick smiled briefly at Esposito but it wasn't returned. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Does ... Lanie know?"

"No. And you're not to tell her."

"Javier, she is going to kill you when she finds out."

"Well, that's my problem, not yours. And she's safer not knowing." Esposito moved closer. "I heard, bro, I told you," he said quietly. "Me, Lanie, Ryan ... we all did."

"Kate didn't. And I thought she was dying."

"So you didn't mean it?"

"I ..." He glanced around, made sure Kate wasn't about to come back in. "Don't tell her."

"Why not?" Esposito shook his head. "Man, you two are your own worst enemies."

"She'll think I said it because I thought ..." The image of her lying on the sweet-smelling turf overwhelmed him for a moment. "She's got Josh."

"She needs you."

"Kate Beckett?" Another smile. "She doesn't need anyone."

"Castle, you are one stupid son of a bitch sometimes."

"Maybe. But she doesn't need me being ... me ... right now. There's other things to worry about."

"Like how we catch this murdering bastard."

"Exactly."

"She knows somebody was pulling the strings, that it didn't end with Raglan, MacAllister and ... Montgomery." It was hard to say, even now. "She's like a bulldog with a rat – she's going to worry at it until it's dead."

"Good image."

"Yeah, well, you must be rubbing off on me."

Rick took Esposito's arm, pulled him to the other side of the room. "Does she know?" he asked, his voice dropped as low as possible and still be audible.

"Who know what?"

"Agent Shaw. About Montgomery."

"No."

"Shouldn't she? I mean, she's investigating Roy's murder, the attempt on Kate's life ... it's all interconnected."

"You heard Beckett," Esposito said, glancing around. "You, me and Ryan. That's it. Nobody else outside the family."

"And if it comes down to it? To her needing to?"

"Then we look at it again."

Jordan finished her call and crossed the room to them. "I have to go back to Washington."

"You're not staying?" Even Rick was surprised.

"This isn't the usual FBI investigation."

"You've gone rogue?"

Jordan laughed. "I like the idea, but no. Technically I'm ... assisting the police. In this case, Detective Esposito here."

"Lanie's going to love that," Rick said, unable to get his mouth off automatic.

Jordan ignored him. "In reality, we're having to investigate this under the radar. The shooting of a police Captain would normally be dealt with inhouse, but the implications of someone much higher up, possibly at the most senior level ... we can't take the risk of whoever it is being spooked and making a run for it."

"We'd know who it was if they did," Rick pointed out.

"And with the kind of money they must have to hire a hitman like Lockwood, they could just vanish into thin air, and I don't want that."

"Me neither."

"Then we're on the same page. Besides, I'll be back in New York in a day or two – this is just to give a briefing in person to my bosses."

"So what now?"

"Kate stays under wraps," Jordan said firmly. "They think she's dead, which means they'll relax, and if they relax they might make a mistake."

"They." Rick felt all his confidence vanish like water on a hotplate. "Just who are 'they'? Do you actually have any idea?"

Jordan looked about as uncomfortable as he'd seen her. Even when she was being held captive by the serial killer, bound and ductaped as she was and definitely not looking at her best, she still had _poise_. Now, though, that pose was showing definite cracks. "The FBI received some information that suggested –"

"No," Rick interrupted her. "No spook speak. Just a good, old-fashioned yes or no."

She gazed at him for a long heartbeat. "Then ... no."

"At least that's honest," Kate said, coming back into the room, Josh lurking in the doorway behind her.

"We know something's rotten, and it goes up pretty high, but how far, or who ... or why ..." She shrugged elegantly

"You're as much in the dark as we are," Kate said.

"So a cop killer goes free," Rick added.

"A double cop killer. Perhaps more." Jordan sighed. "Your captain got too close, Kate and her mother ..."

"I'll find him." Kate was certain.

"No." Jordan was even firmer. "You leave it to us."

Kate's face hardened. "I'm involved. Damn it, they tried to kill me!"

"And if they think you're alive, they'll try again. They think you know something, are a danger to them. And next time they might succeed."

"Jordan, I can't stay here!"

"Yes, you can."

"No, she can't," Rick put in, then at their expressions added quickly, "Not with the keeping under wraps. The staying here. Even the cockroaches are demanding better working conditions!"

Kate did not appreciate his attempt at humour. "I have to find out who's behind this."

"No, you don't." From Jordan's tone it was clearly a subject she wasn't going to be moved on. "You're going to stay put, and out of danger."

"I have work to do!"

"You're dead. As far as the world is concerned, the assassin got it right and killed you." She glanced at Rick. "And as few people that know he didn't succeed the better."

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Rick assured her.

"Good. Because otherwise I'd have you both locked up in protective custody."

"But that doesn't get away from the fact that she can't stay here." He gestured at the seediness. "I mean, look at it."

"Then where do you suggest?"

"My place. It's secure, there's a damn good alarm system –"

"No, Castle. Not happening."

"Then how about out of the city altogether?" He leaned forward. "I've got a place in the mountains, a cabin."

"You do?" Kate interjected, surprised.

"I do. And it's far enough away from anywhere to be safe."

Jordan pursed her lips. "I don't know ..."

"I'll stay with her. Make sure she doesn't do anything crazy." Rick could see Josh start to bristle.

"Away from New York might not be a bad thing," the FBI agent said, thinking out loud.

"No." Kate's voice cut across. "Not happening. I'm not leaving."

Jordan looked at her. "It's not ideal, I'll admit, but –"

Kate stepped between them. "Someone tried to kill me. I want to find out who."

"It's not your case." Jordan held up a hand to stop the tirade. "You're not going to get involved."

"But –"

"No. There are no buts." She crossed her arms, her slightly arrogant air very prominent. "And since it's a straight choice of either holed up in this admittedly pretty appalling hotel, surrounded by Feds to make sure you don't even take a single step outside until we get these guys, or you accompany Castle to the mountains." She smiled slightly. "Clean air, nice walks ... You can stay here if you like, but if you do you're not the intelligent woman I took you to be."

Kate glared at her, then looked at each other men in turn. Esposito was looking as if he was fighting a grin, while Castle was hopeful, encouraging. Josh, on the other hand ...

"I want to go too." Josh was firm, unyielding.

"Sorry, Dr Davidson," Jordan said before anyone else could object. "This can't be a procession."

"Then I want the address. The phone number."

"It's need to know, and whatever your relationship with Detective Beckett, you don't."

Josh's face set, fuming. "What about the dressings? The shots?"

"I can do those myself," Kate assured him.

"And there's a doctor in the local town," Rick added, pouring salt onto the wound. "Nice guy. Old school."

Kate's lips twitched.

"Then there's no problem." Jordan picked up her purse. "I need to check this out with my bosses, but I can't see them objecting."

"You mean if anything happens to me it will be Castle's fault?" Kate asked shrewdly.

"They may well see it that way," Jordan allowed. "But it's late, and nobody's going anywhere until the morning at least."

Rick glanced at his watch, surprised and shocked to see the hour. "I can stay," he offered.

"Go home, Castle," Jordan advised. "Beckett's fine for tonight, and you need to pack."

"Pack. Right." He looked at Kate, who nodded. "Call me. If you need anything."

"I will," Kate promised.

Jordan followed him to the door. "You're sure about this?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "The cabin?"

"Of course."

"I can't send anyone with you. We're trying to keep this as low profile as possible."

He looked into her brown eyes, trying to read her. "Who from, Jordan?" he asked. "You've got some idea, haven't you?"

"Castle, it's your job to keep Beckett safe. You concentrate on that, and let me worry about who done it."

"How long for?"

She smiled slightly. "In your case? Probably the rest of your life." She closed the door on him, leaving him staring at the crusted old wood.

* * *

><p>By the time he got back to the loft he'd gone through feeling exhausted and out the other side, not ready for bed but unable to think straight. Besides, the apartment was empty and full of shadows. There had been a small part of him that hoped Maggie had ignored his order to leave and would be waiting for him, but for once in her life it looked like she was being sensible. No. That was unfair. She had always been far more sensible than he was, and he knew he'd come to rely on that sensibility in times of crisis, even if it was only as a voice over the phone. Right now, though, as much as he wanted to tell her everything, that had to change.<p>

Going through the rooms he spent a few minutes putting on as many lights as possible, then slightly less turning most of them off again, the spectral shade of Alexis at his shoulder complaining about his carbon footprint being so huge. At least all of his books were available on Kindle, so that was a few trees he didn't have to feel guilty over.

He switched the TV back on in the study, turning the sound down so it was barely a murmur, and flicked through the channels until he found an old science fiction film he loved but hadn't seen for a while – _Forbidden Planet_. Based on Shakespeare's The Tempest, of course, all about one man's need for revenge, and maybe a tad too close for comfort, but it was only a few minutes in, and as he dropped tiredly into the soft armchair he found himself looking forward to putting his brain on hold as he made re-acquaintance with Leslie Neilsen, Walter Pidgeon, Anne Francis, and of course the monster from the ID ...

The spaceship had barely reached Altair IV before his head was tipped back and he was snoring lightly.


	5. Chapter 5

Something was ringing. The Swedish volleyball team were glaring at him as if it was his fault, and indeed, when he looked down, he could see an old-fashioned telephone at his feet in the sand. He reached down to pick it up, but kept falling, over and over, twisting and tumbling, legs and arms going in every direction until he opened his eyes.

"Shit."

And closed them again. Keeping them tightly shut against the agony of the daylight, he wriggled enough to be able to get his cellphone out of his pocket and thumb it on. "Yes."

"_You sound healthy."_ It was Jordan Shaw.

"What time is it?"

"_A little after eight."_

"God." He struggled to sit upright. "How's ..." He was about to ask after Kate, but stopped himself in time. "... things?"

"_All settled."_ Jordan was being just as circumspect, in case anyone was listening. _"You're right to leave for a while. It will do you good."_

"I can't feel much worse." That, at least, was true.

"_I've left something for you, to make you feel better."_

"What?"

"_With your concierge."_

"You mean ... oh, right."

"_And try not to think about things."_

"I'll try."

Jordan hung up.

Rick forced one eye open, then the other, his gaze alighting on the TV, still playing quietly to itself, some film of teenagers shooting guns whilst singing making his ears hurt. He punched the remote with a stiff forefinger, the blessed quiet rolling back in.

Gathering his wits from the four corners of the world, he stood up, swaying slightly, his head threatening to explode and leave a sorry mess over the floor. He walked slowly, and with great care, to the kitchen, opening the cupboard where they kept the painkillers. And had to smile.

_Take this and this_, the note said, leaning up against two glasses, one containing two tablets, the other a white powder. _Then no more for four hours_. He could almost hear Maggie's voice in his pounding head.

He smiled. He might not know much about women in general, but the specific females he was acquainted with seemed to care.

The tablets went down quickly, the slightly bitter taste washed away with water, then more splashed onto the powder, which fizzed quite comfortingly. This he carried into his bedroom, planning what he was going to take with him, and wondering if he needed to call in a favour or two.

* * *

><p>After packing and taking a quick shower – very quick, since there was still a faint acrid smell in the air – he realised he actually felt better. Dressing comfortably in jeans and a loose t-shirt, he stood for a moment staring into the mirror. He looked normal, and a lot of the worry lines that had laced his face for the past week had erased, although the bags underneath his eyes were getting more like trunks, wanted on voyage or not.<p>

Then his lips twitched, a smile building, and the years fell away. He was still the college kid who'd written an unexpected best selling thriller, with money in his pocket and a taste for fun. Not that some things had changed over the years – the best sellers, the money, the fame had all increased – but now he had the chance to make the rest of his life better.

He laughed. Damn, he thought some crap sometimes.

Running a brush through his hair he hurried back into the study to wait, a light linen jacket ready by the door.

Twenty minutes later and he was trying to read a book, and his patience was growing thin. Then the phone rang.

"_Mr Castle. Your car is here."_

"Thanks, Eduardo."

"_And there's someone waiting to speak to you."_

"Uh ... I'll be right down."

* * *

><p>Rick tugged the suitcase on wheels Alexis had made him buy (after he put his back out on their last trip to the Hamptons together) out of the elevator, then looked over to the concierge's desk, and the woman standing waiting. She wore her widow's weeds so elegantly he wished he'd made more of an effort with his own dressing, and gone for something with even a bit more style.<p>

"Evelyn."

"Richard." Evelyn Montgomery almost smiled, but the lines on her face weighed her down. "How are you?"

Considering she'd seen him the day before at Kate's funeral, she was obviously just being polite.

"Okay, I guess." He didn't know what to say, or how to say it.

"Are you coping?"

Damn, but this was hard. "Not too well," he managed to say. "You?"

"I have my children." She clasped the large brown envelope in her arms even tighter, crushing the manila slightly. "But it's difficult. Waking up and expecting to find him next to me, then thinking maybe he's only been delayed at the precinct, then realising, all over again ..." She stopped, took a deep breath. "But of course you understand."

He nodded, but said, "It's not the same. Roy was your husband."

Her lips flickered. "And I wouldn't want to have missed a minute of being married to him." She looked like she was about to cry again, but called on some inner steel to hold herself together. "Are you ... going away?" she asked, glancing down at the suitcase.

"For a few days. Just to ..."

"I understand. It goes with you, though, you know."

"Yes." He was starting to flounder. "Evelyn, do you want to come up? I don't need to be anywhere. I was just going to go where the wind took me, so –" He hated himself for that writerly turn of phrase.

"No," she interrupted. "Thanks, but I won't. I just came by to ..." She held out the envelope.

"For me?" He took it without thinking, then realised it was addressed to him in a familiar handwriting. In Roy Montgomery's handwriting.

"I opened the safe yesterday." She looked down at her hands, empty now, and started to try and rub some warmth back into them. "I haven't been able to, until now." Lifting her head she glanced at the envelope, then her eyes met his. "He must have ... just before ..."

He put his hand on her arm. "Evelyn, don't."

"You're right." She shook herself slightly. "He'd hate to see me like this." She straightened her shoulders. "I have to go. I've got the girls in the car."

"Of course. Evelyn ... if you need to talk ..." He pulled out his ever present notebook and pen, writing quickly but legibly. "My private cellphone number. Use it any time. _Any_ time."

"Thank you." She folded it carefully and slid it into the pocket of her absolutely black sheath dress. "I'd better go."

"Yes."

"Have a good trip." She didn't offer to shake hands, just turned and walked out, her grief surrounding her like a visible grey cloud.

"That's one sad lady, boss," Eduardo said from behind his desk.

"Yes, she is." Rick took a breath, held it, then let it slowly trickle from his nose. How Evelyn Montgomery was going to feel when she found out Kate was alive wasn't something he was looking forward to. As much as it was killing her, she'd accepted Roy was dead – this new revelation was going to tear that wound open agonisingly wide again.

Eduardo looked at the suitcase. "Do you know how long you'll be gone, sir?"

Rick dragged himself back. "No. Just keep everything ticking over."

"Yes sir." He reached under the counter. "By the way, you're popular this morning," he added, lifting out a small sealed box about the size of a thick book.

Rick eyed it warily. "Who left it?"

"A guy in a suit. Looked like a Fed." Eduardo was, in addition to being an excellent concierge, a fount of information on some of the seedier aspects of New York. He was also very observant. "Said to tell you it's what you were expecting."

Rick took the box, his name printed clearly, but with the initials _JS _in the top right corner. "Yes, I am." He smiled slightly. "Thanks."

"What do you want me to tell anyone who asks where you are?"

"The usual. You don't know anything."

"Like a monkey." Eduardo grinned, showing a single gold canine top left.

Rick knew what he meant – see no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil. "Great." Unable to carry everything at once, Rick quickly unzipped the pocket on the suitcase and stuffed the ticking time bomb of an envelope inside. "Oh, and if anyone does come around you don't know, call Detective Esposito at the 12th Precinct."

"You got it, boss." Eduardo nodded firmly, and Rick knew he'd do what he promised, as well as making sure the night man did the same. The author had been instrumental in getting him the job at a time when it was the difference between jail and gainful employment, and it made Eduardo fiercely loyal.

"See you in a week or so," Rick said, walking out, the box clutched to his chest, the suitcase following along behind like a recalcitrant child.

The car delivery driver was waiting by a dark blue sedan, her helmet firmly on her hair, the fold-out scooter ready at the edge of the sidewalk. "Mr Castle."

"Hey, Frankie." He smiled. It was a hire company he used regularly, confidential _and_ discreet, if that wasn't a tautology. "How's your mother?"

Francesca Harris, known to everyone as Frankie, shrugged. "Fine. She sends her regards."

He'd taken the woman in question out to dinner a couple of times, and while they'd had a good time there was no spark, and both of them knew it. "It's her birthday soon, isn't it?"

Frankie smiled. "Next month, on the 27th. She's already in a panic."

"Tell her it's just a number. And I'll try and remember to send some flowers."

"She'd like that. Maybe a wreath."

Rick laughed and took out his wallet, knowing she wasn't going to say no to a tip. Removing two fifties he handed them over. "Here."

She raised an eyebrow. "More than usual."

"Hey, I can take it back."

"No, no, that's fine." She stuffed it into her sparse cleavage.

"It's just a reminder not to tell anyone about the car."

Managing to look shocked, she shook her head. "As if we would."

"I know. And don't go spending it on anything illegal."

"Who, me?" She chuckled. "Hey, I've got a new tatt. Want to see?"

"And be done for corrupting a minor?"

"I'm not. Not anymore."

"Frankie, you used to play with Alexis."

The young woman sighed deeply, and totally insincerely. "You don't know what you're missing."

"And I intend to continue missing it."

She grinned widely. "See you, Mr Castle." Swinging one shorts clad leg over her scooter, within a few seconds she was gone in a blue haze of gas fumes.

He smiled. In a way, Frankie was more what he'd have expected in a daughter, given his own proclivities, and if he'd been seeing her mother at the time she'd been conceived, he'd be worried. As it was, he wouldn't swap Alexis for anything.

Stowing the suitcase in the trunk of the car, he climbed into the driver's seat and put the box next to him. As he turned the key, hearing the engine purr into life, he paused. Esposito had been about as careful as a man could be, so maybe he should be the same.

Pulling into the stream of traffic, he drove north, then east and south, making a big circle around Central Park, checking his rear view mirror the whole way. Nobody seemed to be taking more than a cursory interest in him. Still, he drove another block in the wrong direction before parking beside a closed down dry-cleaners. Again he watched and waited, but as far as he could be sure he didn't have a tail.

He picked up the box from the seat next to him and studied it, turning it over, but there were no distinguishing features other than his name on the label. Taking a deep breath he pulled on the tab, unzipping the end. A single sheet of paper fell into his lap, followed by a cellphone and charger, although he didn't recognise the make, despite his interest in gadgets.

The paper was a printed note from Jordan Shaw, the header suggesting it was an email from the J Edgar Hoover Building in Washington, and he read it quickly.

'_Since you seem to be set on this course of action, you will collect her from behind the Ferry Pancake House in Dobbs Ferry. Take her straight to your cabin – no stopping off. There doesn't seem to be a record of any such place in your name, but if we can't find it, neither can they. Give the address to the drop-off guy. The phone is for emergencies only – if you want pizza you'll have to find another way to order. And check it for texts at least twice a day – I may have questions.'_

He shook his head ruefully – she wrote the way she spoke – but the smile on his face widened as he read the final sentences.

'_Do ... whatever it is you plan on doing, and keep your charge out of trouble. And try to make sure you're not followed; imagine you're Derrick Storm, or something.' _

So she _had_ read at least one of his books. There was no sign off, no _regards_ or _yours sincerely_, just her name in block capitals. He grinned. All it needed now was a tinny voice saying 'this message will self-destruct in five seconds'. He wondered idly if he'd be able to get out of the car in time.

He read it through again, admiring the guarded tone. No names other than Jordan's, and only one place mentioned. He had to chuckle, though – his cabin was registered in his real name of Richard Rodgers. He'd called himself Castle for a long time before he made it official, and the cabin was bought at the start of his fame.

Putting the phone, charger and note back in the box he stowed it all under the front seat then settled himself more comfortably. Time to get going.

* * *

><p>It took him over an hour to get to Dobbs Ferry, which considering the traffic was pretty good going, but he still got there first. The pancake house had just opened, and he took a few minutes to flirt with the waitress in order to get a coffee 'to go', trying out his winning smile just to keep in practice. Going back to the car he leaned on the trunk, watching the cars go by. Maggie's pills and potions had worked, and as he sipped his coffee he hoped she was already safe.<p>

After the torrential rain the day before, the weather was obviously trying to make up for it, and he half-closed his eyes to enjoy the sunshine. Seagulls were fighting over something a short distance away, and the low hum of humanity filled the air. He had to smile. As much as it wasn't a holiday, and with the sad circumstances leading up to this, somehow he couldn't help feeling like he was going on vacation, especially as an idle image of Kate in a bikini simmered into his mind, or a one-piece like she wore in LA. He sighed – probably not, though. Knowing her she was treating this like an enforced time-out, and was no doubt already chafing at the bit. She was much more likely to have packed her own murder board than a swimsuit.

That reminded him – Evelyn Montgomery's envelope. He went to open the trunk, but as he did so a tan town car with tinted windows drew into the alley, parking next to him. For a long moment nothing moved inside, then the driver's door opened and Esposito climbed out.

"Castle."

"Hey." Rick smiled. "Checking I was alone?"

"Maybe."

"You're good at this."

"Necessity."

"The mother of invention."

"What?"

"Never mind." He looked around. "You know, I feel like I should be wearing a trenchcoat and a Fedora pulled down low.

Esposito's face cracked a little. "Me too. But better to be safe than sorry."

"Kate okay?" He tried to peer through the smoky glass without success.

"She's okay. Josh was ... awkward."

Rick straightened. "Did she get angry with him?"

"A bit. And you shouldn't look quite that smug."

"Who, me?" Rick chuckled. "Okay, so how are we going to do this?"

"Like it's just another day." Esposito opened the rear door and Kate was revealed.

"If you two have finished pretending to be James Bond ..." she said, a trifle waspishly.

"Hey, it's not just me," Rick protested, then leaned almost into the car to add, in a heavy north European accent, "I have the microdot concealed in my underwear."

"So I've heard." She glanced down at his crotch and flicked an eyebrow, adding something probably highly derogatory in Russian.

"Ouch." He smiled. "Do you need a hand?"

"No. It's bad enough you're going to be driving."

"Don't you trust me?"

"I think I'd rather have you with both hands on the wheel."

"Why, Detective Beckett, I have no idea what you mean."

"And none of that," she said, climbing somewhat stiffly from the car. "It's just Kate."

"Kate Castle?" he asked, his own eyebrows doing a fandango. "Ooh, we could have eloped, and we'll be hiding out at Quarter Lake from your ex-fiancé."

"No." She glared at him, and he could see a tweaked ear in his future if he carried on, so he just opened the passenger door of his car so she could slide in, a groan wrung from her as she did so. "Kate? Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Josh shot me up with some stuff, but it still hurts."

"I don't often agree with Dr Motorcycle Boy, but maybe you should be in the hospital."

"Let's just get going, shall we?"

"Fine." He closed the door.

"Quarter Lake?" Esposito said.

Rick nodded, taking a single sheet of his notebook from his pocket. "My cabin. Here."

"Thanks." Esposito glanced at the address, then slipped it safely away. He went to the trunk of his car and opened it.

"Good God, what's that?" Rick blurted.

"Hey, don't look at me. I didn't choose it." The suitcase he lifted easily from inside was new, small and a hideous mix of orange tartan and green stripes.

"I knew you had more taste. I mean, look at Lanie."

"You haven't, have you?" the Latino detective asked, his usual self assurance for once looking slightly off balance.

"No," Rick quickly assured him. "I might have thought about it once ... okay, twice, if I'm brutally honest, but no. And she wouldn't have said yes, anyway." The expression on Esposito's face suggested maybe a conversation had occurred, and Rick wondered if Lanie _would_ have said yes after all. Turning quickly to hide his smirk, he unlocked the trunk of his car and lifted the lid. "Stick it inside."

Esposito glowered, but did as he was told. As the trunk lock re-engaged, he asked, "Are you armed?"

The sudden change in tension made Rick 's heart start to pound. "A gun? No."

"Here." He slipped a .38 and a box of shells from his pocket and handed it over.

Rick didn't even look at them, just stowed them in his jacket, feeling the weight seeming to hold him down. "You think this is necessary?"

"Beckett's got her gun, but ..." Esposito shook his head. "I've got a bad feeling about this, bro. Like it's not over."

"I don't know if I could kill someone."

"You're a good shot, and if it was a matter of Beckett's life, I know what you'd do."

"I'm flattered you have faith in me."

"Don't be. I'd rather be coming with you, but there's a bad guy to find."

Rick nodded slowly. "Okay." He was about to ask a question, but the window of his car rolled down.

"Are we going?" Kate asked. "Or are you two going to get a room?"

Rick smiled and tossed his paper coffee cup into the nearest dumpster. "Your wish, my lady ..." He hurried round to the driver's door. "Good luck," he said, nodding at Esposito as he slid inside.

"You too, bro."

As he drove away, Rick glanced into the mirror to see Esposito still standing by his car, hands on his hips, staring after them. "I don't think he trusts me," he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"He knows you."

A quick flick of his eyes to her didn't enlighten him as to which of the meanings those three words were supposed to have, so instead he asked, "Do you want some music? It's a long drive."

"Sure."

Trying half a dozen stations, he settled on something easy, unlikely to upset her. "How's that?"

"Fine." She roused herself a little. "Although I thought you were into something more ... progressive."

"Hey, I like all types," he said. "I have eclectic tastes."

"So I've heard."

"Are you insulting me?"

"No. And you know when I am."

"Too true. And I like all kinds of music. Hey, did I tell you about the time I went to the opera to see La Traviata?"

"I don't think so." Kate settled back, supported by the headrest. "Did you sleep with the star?" she asked, closing her eyes.

"Second violinist from the orchestra, as it happens, but I did get several other numbers. And that led to ..."

His voice carried on, filling the silence, and he wasn't surprised to find that, as he turned onto the I-87, she was asleep.

As the traffic picked them up and carried them north, he turned the music down to a gentle drone, and wondered what the next few days were going to bring, and just how long they were going to have to hide out. He couldn't expect his mother and Alexis to stay in the Hamptons forever, and while Maggie and her new husband were safe for a couple of weeks they would need to be back in New York before long, particularly with James' job.

Kate snuffled lightly, not a snore, but a definite snort through her nose.

Rick smiled, but the feel of the gun in his pocket pulled the corners of his mouth down again. Besides, he knew exactly how Esposito felt – it wasn't over.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryan ambushed Esposito almost as soon as he got off the elevator. "Where've you been?"

"Business."

"What kind?"

"Personal." Esposito walked past him towards the bullpen.

Ryan's brow was furrowed. "Okay, something's wrong. You only talk like that when you're involved in something you shouldn't be. Remember that boxing scam? I could hardly get more than a handful of words out of you. And you ended up black and blue."

Esposito glanced back at him. "It's nothing." He reached his desk and sat down. "Just some business I needed to take care of."

Ryan sat next to him, leaning forward. "You need to tell me. I'm your partner, your friend. Is it Lanie?"

"No."

"Castle, then. He's not been around, not since we cleared her desk." He glanced over to the offending piece of furniture, the top bare, the computer dark and silent. Nobody wanted to sit there. "The way he was, the way he was acting … He hasn't done anything stupid, has he?"

"He's away."

"Where?"

"No idea." Esposito picked up his message slips, idly flicking through them. "I called yesterday evening. He said he was going out of town."

"While Beckett's killer is still out there?" Ryan was amazed and shocked in equal measure.

"Maybe it's for the best. Keep him out of the way."

Ryan's face set firm. "Right, now I know something's up. What's going on?"

"I told you, bro. Nothing."

Ryan leaned further forward, his voice even quieter. "You do realise I'm not going to drop this, don't you? Not until you tell me."

"There's nothing to tell. And don't we have some work to do?" He busied himself sliding folders around his desk, but could feel a pair of eyes boring into him. He sighed heavily. "Fine."

Ryan scooted closer. "So?"

"Not here. On the roof. Ten minutes."

"Javier ..."

"Ten minutes," he repeated, nodding towards the captain's office.

Ryan looked in that direction, realising Gabrielle Cleaves was approaching, her feet silent in flat shoes.

"Everything okay?" she asked, stopping in front of them, her arms crossed. Somewhere in her late thirties, she had an air of capability about her, a passion for the job that reminded them both of an older Beckett. Her dark hair and eyes reinforced the impression, although her curvier figure was hidden beneath a loose grey blouse and black pants.

"Fine, I guess," Ryan said. "Any leads yet?"

"We're doing everything we can."

He shook his head. "You know, we say that phrase a dozen times a day, and I hadn't realised just how meaningless it is until now."

"It's early days."

"I hate that saying, too."

Gabrielle leaned against the desk. "I know. But it's going to take time. We will get them – nobody kills two cops and gets away with it."

"Seems to me they've been getting away with it for a long time."

Her eyebrows raised. "Is there something you know that I don't?" she asked.

"No," Ryan said quickly. "But it's all to do with Beckett's mother's death, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Gabrielle shook her head. "I can't help feeling there's more to it."

"There doesn't have to be," Esposito put in, mindful of order about only family knowing. "We got too close, and they paid for it."

"Too close to whom?"

"The person who ordered the hit on Johanna Beckett."

"You don't think it was Lockwood."

"He was a soldier, not the General."

There was a distinct pause before Gabrielle said, "You two seem to have been putting some thought into this."

"It's about all we can do," Esposito said. "We're not allowed to work the case."

"You're too close, too involved."

"She was our friend." Ryan spoke softly, but the emotion was clear. "It makes us motivated."

"From what I've heard of Kate's team, you've never had a problem with motivation."

Ryan glanced at Esposito in surprise, then said, "You knew her?"

"We've had a drink or two in the past," Gabrielle admitted. "When I worked in Vice." She took a deep breath. "Look, the FBI are taking an interest, and every single cop in the city has their ear to the ground. We'll catch the bastards."

"Right."

She didn't take offence. "You should take some time off," she said instead, her entire demeanour sympathetic. "I know what it's like to lose a partner, a member of the team. And contrary to popular opinion, it isn't best to work through it."

"If I sit at home, I only keep seeing it," Ryan confessed. "And I'm not sure Jenny can cope with me moping about."

"Yeah," Esposito agreed. "Lanie feels the same."

Gabrielle nodded, but went on, "You can get counselling. The Department's set up for it. I can call Dr Holloway –"

"No," Ryan said quickly. "Sorry, but no thanks. That's what they told my Uncle Daragh, that it was for his own good, but he ended up in the psychiatric ward."

Esposito glared at him. "I thought you told me your Uncle Daragh used to think there were leprechauns living in his socks and went around naked all the time?"

"Well, yes," Ryan conceded. "But that doesn't mean the counselling helped."

Gabrielle held up her hands. "Fine." She smiled slightly. "I can see I'm not going to get anywhere with you two." She stood straight. "But if you get caught investigating the deaths, I won't be able to protect you." With that she strode back to her office and a ringing telephone.

Ryan gazed after her. "Did she just give us permission to dig?"

"No," Esposito said evenly. "I didn't hear anything."

"Neither did I." Ryan grinned, the first real one for days.

"You know, I need a breath of fresh air." Esposito stood up. "Coming?"

"Yeah, it is a bit stuffy in here, isn't it?" Ryan agreed, suddenly eager to follow his partner up to the roof.

* * *

><p>Despite Jordan Shaw's insistence that they not stop, Rick was very aware of Kate sitting next to him, occasionally twitching in her sleep and uttering the odd grunt. Besides, by early afternoon his stomach was complaining, rumbling so loudly he was sure it would wake her up, and he pulled off the interstate and found a diner.<p>

"Hey. Kate." He touched her shoulder.

"Are we there?"

"No. But I'm hungry."

She looked out of the window at the diner. "Here?"

"It looks okay."

"You've been here before?"

"No." He twisted enough so he could face her. "Come on, Kate. Where's your spirit of adventure?"

"Back in New York."

"Fine," he said, opening the driver's door. "You stay here, then. I'm going to get something to eat."

"So you'd leave me to starve?"

He only grinned and climbed out. She glared, grumbled, but did the same.

Inside the diner it was bright and colourful, and a number of delicious smells assaulted their nostrils as they stepped across the threshold. It might have been retro, or maybe it just hadn't changed in fifty years, but the fake leather seats were crack-free, and the formica table tops were clean and polished.

"Just take a seat," the waitress said, taking an order from one of the only two customers. "I'll be with you in a moment."

"Thanks." Rick looked at Kate. "Where do you want to sit?"

"I don't care."

"Fine. Then –"

"Here," she said, sliding into an empty booth. "Are we supposed to be doing this?"

He nodded, doing the same, only opposite her. "Jordan said so." He couldn't help noticing, though, they'd sat so Kate was facing the doorway.

"Liar."

A quick glance at her face confirmed that, despite her words, she wasn't angry. "Ah. You saw the message."

"No. But I can read you all too easily. It's written all over your face. In fact, I'm shocked you're so good at poker."

"Different muscles."

"Must be that."

He smiled. "Kate, you needed a break. And food."

"You're the one who's hungry." Then her stomach rumbled rebelliously.

"Right."

"Oh, stop looking like the cat who got the canary."

That just made him smile wider. "Got the cream."

"Shut up. And are you correcting me again?"

"How can I tell you if I'm correcting you if you tell me to –"

"Castle."

"Not saying a word."

"If only that were true." She settled back on the red fake-leather seat. "So where are Martha and Alexis?"

He mimed his lips being locked, and she rolled her eyes then glared at him. He smirked.

"They're in the Hamptons," he said.

"You made them go?"

"It didn't take much. They were ... _are_ upset."

"They don't know?"

"About you? No. They're going to be over the moon when they find out."

"If."

"What?"

"If they find out. There's still the possibility that the bad guys will find us."

Rick glanced around as if they might be hiding behind the aspidistra in the corner. Then he said, "Katherine Beckett, I've never known you be so pessimistic before."

"_Realistic_, Castle. And stop using my name."

"Okay, Kate Castle," he teased. "And you have to start calling me Rick," he went on before she could retaliate. "Otherwise no-one will believe we're a couple."

"We're not."

He tried to bury the stab of pain her oh-so-easy words caused, and merely said, "Humour me."

The waitress, a tall, skinny blonde with her long hair caught back in a messy ponytail, came over, notepad at the ready. "Hey, folks," she said, smiling widely. "What can I get you today?"

Rick turned on the charm. "What do you have that's good?"

"It's all good. But our specials are the full steak platter, or the Mohican Grill."

"What's a Mohican Grill?" Rick asked, intrigued.

"Pretty much the same as the platter, only Jerry, our cook, gets a bit creative with the presentation."

"Then the platter sounds fine."

"How do you like your steak?"

"Well done."

"Sure." She looked at Kate. "And what about you?"

"She'll have the same," Rick said before Kate could answer.

"No, she won't." Kate glared at him. "I'll have scrambled eggs and toast."

"No problem." The waitress smiled again, showing even white teeth. "And to drink?"

"Tea."

"Make mine coffee," Rick put in. "Thanks, Kerry."

"Coming right up." The waitress pinked prettily and sashayed away.

"I thought you hadn't been here before," Kate said.

"I haven't."

"Then how did you know her name?"

"It's embroidered on a purse, sticking out of her pocket."

"You saw that?"

"I see a lot of things, Kate."

For a long moment time seemed to stop, as if what he'd said was something entirely different, then Kate shook her head. "You know, I am capable of ordering for myself."

"I know that. I just thought you might need building up. You know ... in your condition." He waved his hand vaguely towards her side.

"I'm not pregnant, Castle."

"No." He grinned. "Of course not. Although that would be a good disguise." He stopped. "No. Scratch that. It wouldn't do my reputation any good."

"You always practice safe sex?"

"Hey, I don't have to practice!" He laughed, looking younger than his years. "Actually, that didn't come out quite the way I intended." Then an idea obviously occurred to him. "You know, I could always get you a fat suit."

"A what?"

"You know, padded all over. Nobody would recognise you. You could hide your gun inside it."

"Don't even joke about it. I've worked hard to keep looking the way I do."

"And you're beautiful," Rick said, then added quickly before she could comment, "But there's nothing wrong with a little spare flesh. Some of the best times I recall having was with a lady friend who was ... shall we say ... well-covered." He chuckled and explained, "No hard edges."

"And you didn't marry her?"

"She said no. But I think I was drunk at the time, so she might not have taken me seriously."

"It seems you've been turned down a lot."

"Believe me, there's at least one time I wish I had been."

"Gina?"

"Mmn."

She gave in and asked the question that had been on her mind for some time. "Why her, Castle?"

He shrugged. "I thought I was in love, I asked her to marry me and she said yes."

"No. I meant this last time."

"Oh." He shifted in his seat as if it had suddenly developed prickles. "I don't know. We were getting along for a change, you were with Demming –"

"Are you trying to blame me, now?"

"No, no. Not at all." He sighed. "I just thought ... better the devil you know. And it had been good, in the beginning. Then I remembered why we broke up in the first place."

"High maintenance."

"And then some."

"People don't really change."

"Yes, they do," he said, his blue eyes rivalling the sky outside. "I have. Since I met you."

"Oh?" She laughed, making a joke out of it. "So you're not going to steal a police horse again, nude or otherwise?"

"Borrowed. I was going to give it back." _Okay, Ricky,_ he added to himself. _She's not ready. Fine. You've got time. You're not even at the cabin yet. And proximity may be exactly what you need._ He ignored the little voice in his hindbrain reminding him that they more or less lived in each other's pockets anyway, and so far they hadn't gotten around to what they really thought in more than two years. Instead he said, "And I never say never."

"So I've heard."

Kerry brought their order, placing full mugs next to their plates. "You want anything else, you just holler."

"Will do," Rick assured her, then looked down at his meal. "Shit."

Kate laughed. "Well, you did want the full platter."

There wasn't a square centimetre of bare porcelain, and it was a big plate. A steak half the size of Texas, what looked like a whole pig's worth of bacon, fries, onion rings ... "Do you think she'll do a doggy bag?" he asked, picking up his knife and fork.

"I think for you, she'd probably do anything," Kate said dryly, salting her eggs.

As they ate in more or less companionable silence, Rick found himself thinking yet again about Roy Montgomery, the two funerals, the man behind it all, and wishing he could call his mother. It was something of a shock to realise that he actually wanted to ask her opinion as to what he should do next. He hadn't quite appreciated how much he relied on talking things out with her and Alexis, slowing his mental processes down by going over details and evidence so that it all made sense. Besides, often something one or other of them said would spark the solution in his mind, laying out the answer for him.

And the truth was he missed them. Well, missed Alexis.

"You need to get used to it."

"What?" He looked up.

"Missing Alexis."

"Did I say that out loud?"

"Yes." She gazed at him. "And you do. Martha's going to be busy with her acting school, Alexis will be going to college ... you need to get used to being on your own."

"Do you have any idea just how long it's been? Since I had nobody living with me? Nearly twenty years." His eyes widened. "At least."

"How will you cope?" she teased.

"Not sure. I might need a lot of help." He smiled.

"If I'm back," she pointed out.

The atmosphere darkened appreciably.

"What will you do?" he asked.

"Do?"

"If this doesn't get resolved quickly."

She paused, her mug halfway. "I ... don't know."

"Because there's no guarantee. Jordan's good, but even she can't work without all the facts."

"You mean Roy's involvement."

"Yes."

"She can't. I won't let his reputation be damaged like that."

"It's true, though."

"And he did everything he could to make it right."

"Did he?"

"What?"

He licked his lips and leaned forward. "They ... whoever they are ... were still getting information on the investigation. And the records were altered _after_ the PD started using that kind of typewriter ribbon."

"You're saying he was still involved."

He was taken aback by the venom in her voice, the sparks in her eyes, but he couldn't stop now. "I'm saying we need to keep an open mind."

"And you think I'm not?"

"I think you want him to be innocent, but that isn't going to happen."

"Don't you?"

"Kate, I played poker with the man. I thought I knew him." He exhaled heavily. "Everyone has secrets."

"Even you?"

"God, yes." He knew she was changing the subject, and allowed her a little steering, but not that much. "You told your Dad where you were going?"

"Not where, just that I was being looked after. He knows I'm safe. Besides, sometimes it's weeks between visits."

"But what about Josh? If he doesn't see you for months, how's that going to affect your relationship?"

"We don't live together. And with our jobs ..."

He wondered why she was making excuses. "That wasn't what I asked."

"I don't know," she admitted, an expression of sadness passing so quickly over her face that he wasn't sure he'd seen it. "And anyway, I could ask the same about your writing. How will you make a living if you have to babysit me for months?"

"I can do that anywhere."

"I suppose." She pushed her plate away, almost half her eggs left.

"I thought you were hungry?" he asked in surprise.

She shook her head. "I've had enough." Taking a bottle of pills from her pocket, she popped the cap and shook two into her palm. "Josh said these would probably affect my appetite." She swallowed them with the last of her tea.

Rick felt an irrational surge of hatred towards the doctor, despite it having been he who had mentioned him in the first place, and said, perhaps more sharply than necessary, "If you don't eat you won't get better."

"Don't fuss," she snapped back. "You're not my mother."

"No. No, I'm not." Rick carefully placed his knife and fork back onto the tabletop. "And I don't think I want any more either." Picking up the check, he slid from his seat. "I'll pay. You'd better wait in the car." He turned his back on her and walked tightly to the till.

As he waited for the boy behind the counter to take his cash, he heard the door open and close, and he let his head sag between his shoulders, his thoughts swirling into a grey maelstrom. _Damn it, Rick, if you can't be nice before you even get there, how will you tell her how you feel?_

He felt a hand on his arm, and her voice said, "Sorry."

With a start he turned. "Kate."

"Sorry," she said again. "I shouldn't be taking out my frustration on you."

"It's to be expected," he said gently.

"Not by me." She took a deep breath, then obviously wished she hadn't as a flash of pain marred her features for a moment. "I hate this," she added. "Being sidelined."

"It's called protection."

"It's called not being able to do my job. Having to leave it to other people."

"Esposito knows what he's doing. You taught him well."

She smiled tiredly. "You really think he hasn't told Ryan by now?"

"Jordan said not to."

"Come on, Castle. You know Ryan – he's like an Irish terrier – he's going to know Esposito's hiding something, and he won't let go until he's dug up the bones."

"Nice analogy."

"I hang around with a writer, what can I say?"

He chuckled, taking his change and dropping most of it in the cup next to the till labelled 'service'. "I always thought I was a good influence."

"Keep thinking that, Castle. You just keep thinking that." She arched an eyebrow and strode out.

He grinned and followed her, like always.

* * *

><p>It was dark by the time Rick finally braked to a halt and turned off the engine. Kate had fallen asleep again an hour or so before, and it was with reluctance that he squeezed her shoulder lightly.<p>

"We're here?" Kate asked, opening her eyes.

"We are." He smiled at her in the small amount of ambient light from outside mixed with the somewhat eldritch green glow of the car's display. "Do you want to stay here while I take the bags in?"

"No." She started to stretch then stopped, wincing. "If you leave me alone I'll only go back to sleep again, and I'd rather do that in a bed."

"Are you sure Josh didn't dope you?"

"I'm sure. It's one of the side effects of the painkillers." She smiled tiredly. "And you called him Josh."

"Slip of the tongue."

"Really."

He turned enough to look squarely at her. "Okay. I'm grateful he was around, if not that he knew when I didn't."

"Castle, believe me, if he hadn't been in the emergency room that night he would have thought I was dead too."

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered."

"Flattering doesn't come into it." She opened the door and let the night perfumes into the car. "Come on. You're going to have to lead. I have no idea where I'm going."

He was out in a moment, leaning back inside. "Hang on." He jogged away, giving Kate the opportunity to try and examine her surroundings.

Swinging her legs carefully out of the car, she stood up, favouring her side and allowing a moan past her lips that she'd have tried to keep in if she hadn't been alone. It had only been a few days since she'd been shot, and despite her protestations that she was fine, she knew that in an ideal world she'd be in hospital. But that wasn't an option right now, so she had to make the best of it. Still, another couple of Josh's little pink tablets might not be a bad idea.

She straightened up as much as she could, and looked around. Not that there was much to see. The night was cloudy, and although there was the odd break here and there showing patches of a star-packed sky they were few and far between, and didn't illuminate much. She got the impression of solid darkness ringing the horizon, and deeper shadows a few dozen feet away, but the most obvious sign that she wasn't in Kansas anymore were the smells. A dozen scents, quite different from the often malodorous city, intertwined in her nostrils, and most of them she couldn't identify. There was earth, pine resin, and something that was probably night-flowering, but the rest were hidden in the gloom.

The sounds were different too. There was no incessant hum of traffic, so continuous in New York that its absence seemed to crowd in on her, just the odd insect rubbing its legs together, while something big flew overhead, breaking the air with feathered wings.

It was with a start that she realised lights had come on along a path, barely pushing back the darkness but enough that she wasn't likely to break an ankle.

Rick reappeared and bowed low. "My lady," he said, holding out his arm. "Come on. Let's get you inside."

For once she didn't demur, wrapping her hands around his bicep and allowing him to assist. The path seemed to be steep, curving around to the left, and her legs began to feel like they didn't belong to her long before they reached the top.

"You okay?" Rick asked, worried at the amount of her weight she was allowing him to carry.

"Fine." She blinked hard. "Just tired."

"We're here."

"Great." There were steps up, then she was through a door into a large, warmly lit room. Some things registered, like a pair of couches, pictures and what looked like a couple of tapestries on the log walls. Not that she was given time to inspect anything, as Rick helped her across the polished floor to the stairs at the back.

"You're going straight up," Rick said firmly.

"I'm not going to argue." She had just enough energy to climb up the stairs to the open door at the top, and beyond it was ... "A bed," she breathed.

Rick grinned. "It's comfortable. Believe me."

"It's yours?" She turned a glare on him, surprising considering how tired she felt.

"Don't worry. I don't intend ravishing you. At least, not tonight."

"I've still got my gun."

"And you're probably not capable of using it." He pushed her gently inside. "But, contrary to what people say, I _am_ a gentleman."

"Funnily enough, I'm not sure I've heard different."

He warmed at the unexpected compliment. "We can talk about that in the morning."

"Great." She walked a little unsteadily to the bed and lowered herself as carefully as she could manage.

He was immediately there, lifting her legs so she could lie on her back, and covering her with a patchwork quilt.

"You get some proper rest," he said, then peered a little closer. "Kate?"

She was already asleep.

He watched her for what seemed an age, marvelling at how similar she looked to when she was lying on the turf, and yet now his whole world was the right way up again.

A strand of hair was lying on her cheek, and he wanted to lift it, push it back behind her ear, but he didn't want to disturb her. Instead he said, little more than susurration of breath, "I wasn't lying, Kate."

She snuffled, and he stilled, but she didn't wake.

He sighed, wishing he had more courage. But it wasn't the right time. Not yet. Josh was still part of the picture, the person who had ordered her mother's death was still unknown, and she herself was hurt. No. Not now. There'd be a moment, a point when he'd tell her again, but it wasn't this one.

Backing out of the room, he closed the door on the temptation, and went downstairs to get the bags out of the car.

In the bed, as comfortable as he'd assured her, Kate stared into the shadows overhead, and listened to his footsteps fade away.


	7. Chapter 7

Ryan woke up, rolled into Jenny. She was wrapped around him, but despite the alarm was still fast asleep. As he reached out to switch it off, he smiled. She could sleep through a thunderstorm, and a ringing bell was nothing. Still, give it another half an hour and she'd wake up on her own, her internal clock more accurate than anything mechanical. He buried his nose in her hair for a moment, breathing deeply of her warm scent. Cinnamon and vanilla. He'd laughed with Esposito when they first saw Castle sniffing Beckett, but with Jenny he knew why. It might only be pheromones, but there was something about her perfume ...

Thinking of Esposito made him remember the conversation on the roof, when his partner had finally come clean.

The sun had been in his eyes, but he'd ignored it. All his concentration had been on Esposito, and the amount of anger that had welled up inside him.

"You knew?"

"Bro, it wasn't -"

"No, you don't get to say that to me." He turned away, starting to pace, his hands in fists on his hips. "You knew, all this time, and you didn't tell me."

"I couldn't. Orders."

Ryan span on his heel. "Orders? From who?"

"Jordan Shaw."

"Jor …" He couldn't even get the name out. "She's involved in this?"

"She's the reason Beckett's still alive."

Alive. Beckett was still alive. He heard the words but somehow couldn't get his brain around it. They'd carried her coffin … "Does Castle know?"

Esposito looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, bro. He does."

"So I'm the last." The anger flared into a conflagration. "The last to know. Again."

"Since when were you the last to know anything?"

"I think this is a pretty big example, don't you?" Ryan began to pace again.

"Dude, Castle only knows because he figured it out. I have no idea how, but I think maybe Maggie Maguire had something to do with it."

Ryan threw his hands into the air expressively. "Somebody else who knew before me!"

"They worked it out together. Made me tell them."

"What, did they use the thumbscrews?"

"I wanted to tell you. I told Jordan it wasn't a good idea not to."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a whole lot better," Ryan said witheringly.

Esposito sighed and walked to the parapet , ignoring the dirt and grime of a thousand New York City days and nights to sit down. "Bro, she's alive. Isn't that the main thing?"

Ryan stopped, turned and stared at him. "Of course it is! But you should have told me right from the beginning!"

"Yeah. You're right. And I'm sorry."

"Damn right I'm right." He glared at his partner, sitting on the low wall, hands clasped lightly in his lap, showing an inch of dark-skinned leg above his sock where his pants leg had ridden up … and felt his anger drain away. Not entirely - there was still an ember glowing in the pit of his stomach, but he knew that was essential. Nurture it, keep it fed, and it would sustain him through the dark hours when it seemed like they'd never catch the bad guy. He sighed. "Does Lanie know?"

"No."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "She is going to kill you when she finds out."

"I know. At least she can do the autopsy on my lifeless corpse."

"If they ever find the pieces."

"Yeah."

Ryan allowed his shoulders to relax, and joined Esposito on the parapet. "Can I tell Jenny?"

"Probably not a good idea."

"You don't want to be the only body on a slab when this is over?"

"Hey, we're partners."

He sat quietly for a moment or two, then asked, "Why you? How come you were the one who got involved and not me?"

"I was there, bro. At the hospital."

"So was I."

"But not when Jordan came looking. You'd gone to the bathroom."

"So if I hadn't had to go take a leak …"

"We wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Or maybe I'd be the one telling you," Ryan pointed out.

"Could be."

There was silence for maybe five seconds. "Now what?"

"We catch the bastard who did this."

"You think we can?"

Esposito stood up, brushing at his pants. "We're Beckett's Boys, didn't you know?"

"Beckett's Boys?"

"That's what they call us."

Ryan got to his feet. "Beckett's Boys." He rolled it around his mouth, then grimaced. "That's terrible."

"Lanie thinks it's cute."

"It makes us sound about five years old. Now, Beckett's Men … that would be more like it."

"There's no alliteration."

"No what?"

"Alliteration."

Ryan whistled. "Man, you have been spending way too much time with Castle."

"Just for that you're going to buy the first three rounds tonight."

"And you're buying the rest. I haven't forgiven you yet."

"I'll toss you for it," Esposito said, heading back towards the roof door.

"Hey, you owe me!"

"Sorry, bro, can't hear you."

"Esposito …"

They'd bickered all the way back down to the bull pen, but that evening they'd gone to The Old Haunt, and by the end of the night had been more or less equal in who bought what.

"Kevin?"

He looked down to see Jenny gazing blearily at him from her position against his chest. "Sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No." She yawned. "Yes," she amended, but smiled. "Is it time to get up?"

"Pretty much." He pushed a strand of her blonde hair out of her mouth, then lifted her chin so he could kiss her.

"Whoa," she said, moving her head away. "Morning breath."

"Who, you or me?"

"Both of us."

"Then it doesn't matter, does it?" He pulled her back, pressing his lips firmly onto hers. He felt her smile.

"What's this in aid of?" she asked when he let her up for air.

"I don't know. Can't a fiancé kiss his woman awake?"

"_His_ woman?" She poked him in the chest. "And you've not exactly felt like it, not since …" She couldn't finish.

"Maybe I feel more … hopeful." He tightened his arms. "And any red-blooded Irishman who wakes up with a beautiful woman by his side and doesn't take advantage should be thrown into the Hudson."

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked, all sleepiness gone from her eyes.

"Don't fish," he said, rolling her over so he had better access.

* * *

><p>Esposito woke up, rolled into Lanie. He was spooned against her back, and she muttered something about it being way too early before settling her face into the pillow once more, tugging the sheet against her chest.<p>

He reached across to the alarm, silencing it, but the ringing still seemed to be echoing through his head. Maybe he was developing tinnitus or something. Or perhaps it was all the alcohol last night.

Damn, but that Ryan could drink. Something about his Gaelic heritage, maybe, but he seemed to soak it up like a sponge.

Not that it had got them very far, at least with their planning. Pretty much all they'd decided was to go through the files again at Beckett's apartment, see if there was something they'd missed the first, second or fortieth time around. Still, at least they'd got past the anger.

He had to smile. It hadn't quite happened like he'd said, but in this case it was probably better to spare Ryan's feelings than be brutally honest. Jordan Shaw had waited until Esposito was alone at the hospital before approaching him.

"Ryan's too emotional," she'd explained. "If he goes from being overwrought to relieved in the space of a few hours, someone will notice."

"He's a good cop."

"I know. But right now I need them to believe he's grieving."

"Them? Do you know who _they_ are?"

"No." Jordan looked annoyed with herself. "I had men placed around the cemetery, but not one of them saw anything."

"So why me?"

"I need eyes and ears in the precinct."

Esposito shook his head. "Why aren't you in there, with your war room and all the manpower you can throw at this thing?"

"Because at the moment there's no firm cause."

"Someone tried to kill Beckett. _Did_ kill the captain."

"Montgomery was killed by Lockwood, who died at the same time. Some people might call that justice, and decide that was enough."

"What about Beckett?"

"There's no concrete evidence that connects the two. Kate's attempted murder might just be opportunistic - someone taking advantage of the situation."

"With all the cops around?"

Jordan smiled tightly. "Someone did. We know they're connected, but I've no solid proof, so I can't come in, all guns blazing. About the most I can do is have a watching brief, offer my … advisory capacity thing."

"So what do we do?"

"Our jobs. Someone knows something, and if we listen hard enough, we'll hear it."

"And Beckett?"

"We'll take her to a hotel, stash her someplace safe until this is over."

He barked a laugh. "Good luck with making her stay out of things."

He'd been right, of course. Despite the gunshot wound, Beckett had railed against the confinement, going over and over things with him when Jordan and Josh were out of the room, until his brain was in danger of exploding.

"Dollar for them."

He lifted his head in surprise to look over Lanie's shoulder. Her eyes were still closed but she was smiling slightly. "Did I wake you?"

"Yes. But I've got a body on the slab to work on this morning, so I have to get up anyway." She rolled over so she was lying on her back. "Morning."

"Morning." He smiled. "And isn't it 'a penny for your thoughts'?"

"Inflation," she said succinctly. "So come on, 'fess up. What's got you lying all pensive at this time of the morning?"

"Nothing."

"You look like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders."

"Just … things."

"Becketty things?" she suggested, a shadow crossing her eyes.

He hated seeing her like that, but knew that, in this case, he had to be strong. Even more so than Ryan, she wore her emotions on her face. "We'll get him, Lanie," he said softly. "I promise."

"I know."

He settled his head on his hand, resting on his elbow, and allowed his gaze to run up and down her body. "You're so beautiful."

"You do know sex isn't the answer to everything, don't you?" she asked, her mood lightening again.

"I don't know. Is it multiple choice?" He pressed against her naked thigh.

"Why, Detective Esposito. Are you trying to seduce me?"

"Damn, I hope so," he said fervently as he leaned forward to capture her mouth.

* * *

><p>Kate woke up, on her back, her mouth wide open, throat dry. She had the sneaking suspicion she'd been snoring, but luckily there was nobody in bed with her to hear.<p>

There was no sound from the rest of the cabin, so Castle probably wasn't up yet. _Rick_, she told herself. _Not Castle. Rick._ It wasn't that she didn't think of him by his first name, but she knew it was something of a defence mechanism. She'd heard what he said the night before, about not lying, and she knew exactly what he meant. "I love you," he'd said. And she was angry as hell at him for saying it.

How dare he? At that moment, when she thought each agonising breath was going to be her last, when she couldn't say 'I love you' back ... how dare he have the last word?

She wasn't even sure of how she felt, not after everything that had happened. In LA she would have given in, but Fate decided otherwise, and now all this had made her question herself once again. He was her friend, her partner, and against all the odds (and his tendency to be incredibly annoying) she trusted him with her life.

But this ... she wasn't sure she could afford to let herself be sidetracked. Let alone for him to say it first.

Pushing back the quilt, she managed to roll herself into a sitting position on the bed, her feet on the floor, without too much pain. Well, yes, it hurt, and she was going to take another couple of Josh's little pink pills as soon as she could get the energy to find the bathroom and a glass and run some water. She looked around, but the action twisted something, and she gasped. Okay. Forget the water.

Reaching into her pocket she found the container, managing to get the lid off without too much effort and tossing the last two pills into her mouth. She swallowed, gagging slightly at the bitter taste, but got them down. Luckily Josh had supplied her with enough to last another two weeks, and these were safely stashed in that hideous suitcase, which was wherever Castle had left it.

Castle. Damn him. And Josh. In fact, damn them both. Maybe she should be on her own again, reliant on nobody for her emotional support. She'd done fine before. She didn't need a man in her life. In fact, she could get a cat. Maybe two. Or three, for that matter. End up the crazy old cat lady that parents warned their kids about.

She smiled. Right.

The tablets were going to take a little while to work, but the pain had eased considerably as she sat quietly, so she took the opportunity to study her surroundings, pretty much as a hunter would study the habitat of his prey. Almost as big as she seemed to recall the living room downstairs, it was painted white, the original logs plastered over.

Large windows filled two opposite walls, one over the bed, with pale cream net curtains to the floor that she could imagine billowing in any breeze. A fireplace centred a third wall, where at least thirty pictures, mostly of Rick and his ladies, covered almost all the spare space around.

The last wall seemed taken up with two doors – one of which appeared to lead into the bathroom (and _that_ was becoming something of an issue) – and the other she recalled coming in by the previous night, with what was probably a walk-in wardrobe with slatted doors in the corner over the stairs.

Apart from the king size bed the furniture consisted of an old-fashioned clothes press by the bathroom (more urgent now), two very comfy-looking armchairs flanking the fireplace, and nothing else, which surprised her more than anything.

Okay. Now it was more than urgent, and she managed to stand and walk to the bathroom, finding it elegantly tiled in shades of green, with an ancient rolltop bath in pride of place. And a toilet.

Five minutes later, she was far more relaxed, and didn't feel at all guilty having spent an informative amount of that time going through Castle's medicine cabinet. He was right – he did practice safe sex, although the box of condoms was unopened, and only just in date. Tylenol, Alka Seltzer, an astringent stick in case he cut himself shaving ... it seemed like he was human after all.

Smiling slightly she walked back into the bedroom, and was struck once again by the realisation that this wasn't what she expected in Castle's little hideaway. Somehow she had imagined a lot more browns, beaten metals, leather trims perhaps, something more in keeping with his apartment, but this had a woman's touch, and she felt a sliver of jealousy coil in her belly.

Or maybe it was hunger, considering the loud rumble that emanated, reminding her she hadn't eaten since the eggs and toast the day before, and she'd left half of that.

Ignoring the fact that she was still wearing the same clothes, she padded outside and negotiated the stairs with care, taking greater note of the living room as she descended. As she remembered, down here the walls were the actual logs, the in-between sealed with mortar and painted white, although in most places even this wasn't visible.

What she'd taken for tapestries were large fabric collages, natural colours in an almost abstract design, but fitting in perfectly with the rest of the room. Pictures, prints, photos and original works of art filled the gaps, an eclectic and odd mixture of city and countryside, animal and mineral, until she half-closed her eyes and realised the placement wasn't random, but planned to form a picture of their own, a lot like one of those photos made up of a thousand others, only this was a pastoral scene of rolling grasslands and tall trees. Yet again she doubted Castle had the patience to plan and carry out such a project.

Now down on the polished hardwood floor, dotted here and there with rag rugs and an intimate dining table with four chairs suggesting the occasional dinner party, a thin plasma TV graced one corner, while nic-nac shelves filled the others.

A lot of the rest of the room was taken up with three large sofas clustered around another fireplace, this one much larger and grander than the one upstairs, and on one of them, stretched out with his head back on one of the cushions, was Richard Castle, best-selling author and darling of the celebrity circuit, snoring gently.

She gazed down at him, and shook her head. He looked younger than usual, the lines of his life smoothed out by sleep, especially with his hair fallen over his forehead like that. Maybe she should tell him she actually preferred it like this, and not moussed into submission. Admittedly, he always looked tidy, but sometimes she just wanted to run her fingers through it to muss it up a little.

She sighed. She might have known he'd be attractive even in sleep, whilst she was almost positive she drooled.

Okay, not going there. She nudged the sofa arm. "Castle." He snorted slightly. "Castle." Still nothing. "Rick."

His eyes opened. "Oh. Hey."

She wanted to cross her arms, but knew it might hurt, so merely contented herself with raising one eyebrow and asking, "Did you sleep here all night?"

"You had the bed."

"What?"

"You had the bed." He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands.

"_The_ bed."

"That's what I said."

"There's only one bed in this place?"

"I don't mind." He smiled and nodded to a pile of blankets and pillows sitting unused on one of the other sofas. "I was going to make it up, but I couldn't be bothered. In the end I just fell asleep." He stood up and stretched, then a spasm ripped through his back, and he yelped in pain before he could stop himself.

"Castle?"

"It's ... nothing." He pressed his fingers into his spine.

"Okay," she said, sighing loudly. "Lie down."

"What?"

"On the floor. On your face."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it."

He gazed at her until she gestured again, before lowering himself, as gently as he could, onto the rug. "What are you going to do?"

"Just relax."

"I hate it when people say that. I end up with tattoos."

"Oh? Where?"

"Never you ... ow!"

She pressed on the centre of his spine with her bare foot, her toes digging in.

"Don't be a baby. I'm hardly putting any pressure on."

"You'll break my back!"

"No I won't. I know what I'm doing." She kneaded the muscles. "My roommate when I spent that semester in Moscow used to do this for extra rubles. She showed me how."

"Really?" R-rated images played across Rick's brain, interspersed with flashes of white pain as she found the spot that really, _really_ hurt.

"At least I'm not walking on you. That's what she used to do."

"What did she used to wear?"

"Stilettos." Kate dug her toes in harder, making him yell as something clicked. "There." She moved back.

Rick lay on the floor, afraid to move. "You're done?"

"Yes. Get up."

"I'm not paralysed?"

"Get up."

Gingerly at first, then with much more of a spring when he realised it didn't hurt, Rick stood up. "Wow," he said, rolling his hips and bending forwards. "That's amazing." He grinned. "Nikki Heat is so going to be able to do that."

She watched his contortions and said, "You know how you killed off Derrick Storm?"

"Yes?"

"Well, Jameson Rook could go the same way if you keep doing that."

He laughed. "Why don't you go outside while I make breakfast?"

"Pancakes?"

He grinned, remembering another time he'd cooked for her before a dead body literally fell at his feet. "Oh, I think I can do better than that."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "When did you go shopping?"

"I didn't." He looked shamefaced, but grinned wider. "I called the local store from Dobbs Ferry, got them to drop some stuff off yesterday afternoon."

"I thought this was supposed to be under the radar?" Her glare said much more than her words.

"It's all right," he assured her. "I used the phone at the Pancake House. Sharon was very helpful."

"Sharon?"

If his smile got any wider his head would probably have split in two, so he just turned nonchalantly on his heel and headed towards the small kitchen.

She stared after him, shaking her head, before wandering outside.

He'd barely got the frying pan out of the cupboard when he heard her voice.

"Oh my god."

Dropping it with a clang on the counter he ran to help. "What? What is it?"

She was standing just beyond the doorway, staring at the view. "It's ... beautiful."

He looked himself, seeing it afresh through her eyes. And it was stunning.

The road they'd driven up snaked back into the trees which crowded the cabin on three sides, but in front a gravelled area the width of the cabin and maybe thirty feet long led down to the edge of a lake spread out before them. The shoreline spread out and curved away, in some places fringed with tiny beaches, others with huge erratic boulders, but mostly more trees. From this angle it was impossible to tell if it was enclosed, but the far edge, perhaps a couple of miles away, framed yet more trees, with the absolute perfection of mountains thrusting up behind, still capped with white.

"Quarter Lake," Rick said.

"Is it all yours?"

"Not all of it," he conceded. "But a fair chunk of the shoreline." He shrugged. "I've got a standing arrangement with a local realtor to try and buy up any plots that come on the market."

"Are you planning to develop it?"

At her appalled look, he squirmed a little. "I was. But not anymore," he added quickly. "Alexis is of Maggie's mind – she wants to save the planet."

"Sometimes Alexis sounds more like Maggie's daughter than Meredith's."

"Oh, I was there when she was born." His face lit with the memory. "Anyway, the nearest cabin in around the bend, up there," he said, nodding to the right. "But they don't arrive until August."

"They?"

"The Sigersons. Nice couple. Retired. We used to have the occasional barbecue."

She shook her head, turning back to the view. "So where are we, exactly?"

He pointed. "Town's that way. North is Siamese Ponds. South is Shaker Mountain, Glen Falls is in that direction." He swung around. "And somewhere out there is Canada, a pretty long walk if you were thinking of making a break for the border."

She smiled. "I suppose I did ask."

"Hey, it's nice here. There's even a cinema, at least there was last time I was here."

"What does it show?"

"Old films. A lot of silent stuff. There's quite a crowd turns out."

"Did we go through a time warp or something?"

"No. But there are a lot more places like this than you'd think."

She took a deep breath, feeling the clean air getting into places normally filled with gas fumes and carbon monoxide. "Maybe there are."

"Now, breakfast." He slapped his hands together. "Oh, and before I forget ... if you were considering paddling, just remember the lake is fed from the mountains, and even at this time of the year it'll be freezing."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Although if you want to get a tan, I'd be more than happy to be on sun crème patrol."

She made a face. "This isn't a holiday, Castle."

"Kate, you need to relax. There's nothing you can do right now, so take it easy. Enjoy yourself."

"Castle …"

"Rick." He sighed slightly. "Fine. Be like that. You can spend your time here inside, watching satellite TV and being all pale and interesting. You can even catch up on Temptation Lane, although that might be too much fun for you."

"I'm not on vacation. Someone tried to kill me."

"I know." For a moment his good humour vanished, and the occasional seriousness that he displayed was on full view. "Kate, that's something I am never going to be able to forget."

She felt a surge of guilt. "Just … so's you know."

His bonhomie returned, even if it was a trifle forced. "Anyway, so if you need any help, just let me know."

"I think I can manage."

"I don't know about that," he added, heading inside. "You know what Dr Motorcycle Boy said about unaccustomed exercise." He glanced back and waggled his eyebrows. "Although I don't think it was _that_ kind of exercise he was worried about."

She laughed, and the sound warmed his soul.


	8. Chapter 8

Kate had to admit Rick was a pretty decent cook. Eggs, bacon, even hash browns, they all made it onto her plate, then off again as she realised quite how hungry she was.

"Thirds?" he offered, smiling.

"No. I'm good. Although I'll be as big as a house if I keep on like this." She looked down at the clothes she'd been wearing for a solid twenty four hours. "I need to shower and change."

"Can you do that?" he asked. "Won't it get your dressing wet?"

"I can manage."

"I could help."

"How?" Her eyebrow arched.

"Give me a while, I'll work on it."

"No. Thanks, but no." She stood up, still favouring her side but glad the pills had worked. If she moved too quickly it still hurt, but that night's sleep seemed to have done wonders. Still, she was sure any untoward exercise could easily pop a stitch or two. "Where's my bag?"

"That thing?" He smiled. "By the stairs. I'll bring it up." He got to his feet.

"Thanks." She walked carefully past him. "Aren't you going to shower?"

"Only one bathroom," he said regretfully.

"And only one bedroom." She shook her head. "I don't know how you can cope."

"I don't mind roughing it," he joked, following her upstairs, the garish case in his hand. "It all depends on the company." He watched her backside, then had to stop to avoid walking into her as she glared over her shoulder.

"Castle."

"Sorry." He smiled winningly.

"Mmn." She carried on.

"You know," he said conversationally as he carefully kept his eyes above waist level, "I meant it about taking it easy. There are some great walks around here. I think I've got a map somewhere."

Kate refrained from repeating her earlier argument, just walked straight into the bedroom at the top of the stairs and turned immediately right into the bathroom. She knew he was right, but she didn't actually have to tell him. Besides, it annoyed her intensely to have to rely on Esposito – and probably Ryan by now – to do the investigating. "I don't have the right clothes to go hiking," she said, turning on the water in the shower and waiting for it to get hot.

Rick put the case on the bed. "From the feel of this I doubt you've got a change of underwear," he commented dryly.

"A bit more than that," she said, coming out to join him. "But not much."

"Then I think we're going to go shopping."

"Shopping."

"Yes. In town."

"We can't." She gazed at him, her clear eyes seeming to read his thoughts. "We're supposed to be under the radar."

"Kate, you can't live in two t-shirts and a pair of jeans." He grinned. "It'll be my treat."

"No." She shook her head firmly. "If I buy anything I'll pay for it myself."

"How?" He sat down, his hands in his lap. "You don't have any cash, and you can't use a credit card – you're dead."

He was right. Smug, but right. Again. "Then I'll make do. I'll ... wash and wear."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't. We don't know how long we're going to be here, and as it was my idea the least I can do is buy you some clothes." He sighed. "Katie, don't fight me on this."

"Don't call me that," she said, more sharply than she intended. "Only my Dad calls me Katie."

"And your mother? What did she used to call you?"

For a moment she was overwhelmed by memories, of when she was little, of loving arms wrapped around her. Then she pushed them down as steam started to billow from the bathroom behind her. "I'm trying to shower here," she said pointedly.

"That's okay," Rick said, laying back on the pillow and tucking his hands behind his head. "I'm not stopping you." He sighed again, this time in contentment. "I could just do with a nap."

"No." She tapped her foot. "I'm not going to strip with you in here."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"I won't be. Out."

"Kate –"

"Out. Now."

He stood up, then looked longingly at the bed. "You know, I'd forgotten how comfortable it was," he murmured. "Unlike the sofa."

The wistful expression on his face was too much. "Fine," she said finally on a huge sigh. "We'll share it."

"What?"

"The bed. You can have one side, I'll have the other." At his amazed look she added quickly, "Just remember I'm armed. And I'm only letting you sleep with me ... _next_ to me because I can't massage you every morning."

"Fine, fine," he said, waving away any objections. "I shall keep my hands - and any other portions of my anatomy - to myself."

"Well, just you see that you do."

"It'll be like that film."

"What film?"

"It Happened One Night. Clark Gable, Claudette Colbert. He's a journalist, she's an heiress running away from a marriage. They end up sleeping in the same room, with a sheet suspended between them." He grinned as he headed out towards the stairs. "The walls of Jericho."

"I see you with a trumpet and I'll shoot you," she said, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door firmly.

* * *

><p>He'd stacked the dishes in the sink, knowing from past painful experience that the somewhat ancient water system couldn't cope with both shower and washing up, then took a folding chair from the cupboard and went to sit outside, a mug of coffee – proclaiming him to be the 'World's Greatest Dad' – in his hand.<p>

Sipping at the hot liquid, he let his mind wander, listening to the sounds around him, feeling the soft breeze on his skin, and wondering how he was going to be able to call Alexis and his mother.

He couldn't leave them wondering where he was, and while he fully understood the need for secrecy, to keep things – as Kate put it – under the radar, he also loved his family. Maybe he could use a phone in town, keep it brief and try and give his daughter a hint that anyone else wouldn't understand. In a way he was surprised that Alexis hadn't tried to call him, and it was with a start that he realised it was less than forty-eight hours since Kate's 'funeral'. It felt like years.

Closing his eyes, he cradled the mug, and tried to think what Nikki Heat would do, whether she'd let Jameson Rook take care of her. He'd put money on her being worse than Kate, at least the way he was going to write this. He grinned and slid down further in the fold-out chair, resting the mug on his belly.

He had no idea how long he was sitting, planning out the book in his head, before he heard footsteps on the gravel behind him.

"Hey."

He smiled but didn't open his eyes. "Hey. Did you shower okay?"

"Yes, fine."

"Do you need any help changing the dressing?"

"I managed."

"Pity." The smiled turned to a grin, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, then did a double take. "What the hell ..." His jaw fell almost to his chest.

"What?" Kate asked.

"I ... that's ..." He wiggled his hand in a circular motion. "You'd better turn around a few times, so I can get the full effect. Only do it slowly."

The smirk on his face was enough. "I'm not going to be your personal fashion parade, Castle." She touched the long blonde wig she was wearing. "If we're going into town I can't look like me."

"Oh, I agree you look nothing like you. In fact you look more like Natalie Rhodes."

Kate paused. The actress contracted to play Nikki Heat in the film version of Heat Wave, who had come into the precinct and almost taken over Kate's life before ending up an almost-friend. "You think?"

"Or someone who wants to look like her." He noticed the big sunglasses in her hand. "Put them on. Please."

"Castle ..."

"Humour me."

With a glare that should have melted titanium, Kate slid on the shades. "Well? What do you think?"

Rick was trying not to laugh. "Now you look like someone who wants to look like Natalie Rhodes pretending to be anonymous." Now the glare would have vapourised diamonds, and he couldn't keep the laugh inside. "Sorry," he said.

"You are not helping." She swatted at his with the sunglasses then crossed her arms, winced, and tucked her thumbs into her jeans pockets, waiting for him to finish.

"Are you really planning on going in disguise?" he asked once he had got himself back under control.

She sighed. "I have to. Unless I'm very much mistaken, they get Cosmopolitan out here too, and my photo was plastered all over it next to yours, let alone the publicity in the papers when they announced the film. If anyone recognises me we could be in trouble."

"No, I get that, but ..." He stood up and handed her the mug. "Hold on."

She watched him run inside, shaking her head and feeling the wig slip a little. In what seemed no time at all he was back, something red hanging from his hand.

"What is that?"

"One of my mother's," Rick explained, shaking the second wig out. "She wanted long hair a few years ago, and couldn't be bothered to wait for it to grow."

"Why is it here?" Kate had to ask. "Or did you borrow it for some reason I don't want to think about?"

"She was staying here getting over a relationship," he explained slowly, carefully. "She left it behind."

"Just so long as you aren't suggesting I'm going to look like her."

He put his hands up. "No, no, as if I would. It's just ..."

"Go on. I'm curious to see if you can say something without putting your foot into your mouth."

"All I'm, quite innocently, suggesting, is that the blonde wig looks like it could be a wig so it looks like you're trying to be incognito. Whereas the red wig is so obviously fake nobody's going to give it a second glance."

"That almost makes sense. Which worries me."

"Try it. You'll see what I mean."

Still not convinced, Kate hooked the sunglasses into the neckline of her t-shirt and did as he suggested, swapping the blonde for the red. Then she used the mirrored shades to take a look at her reflection.

"Damn."

"See?"

Somehow, against all the odds, the red wig was so outrageous the eyes naturally went to it and not the person beneath. Still, she wasn't going to go anywhere with it flowing down around her shoulders like that.

"Do you have any scrunchies? Elastic bands?"

He looked smugger than ever, if that was even a word. "I've got something better." He pulled something from his pocket with a flourish, and Kate recognised it as a large barette. "It belongs to Alexis," he added. "Sit down."

Reluctantly, feeling as he probably had when she told him to lie on the floor earlier that morning, Kate lowered herself into the folding chair, feeling it give a little beneath her but at least it didn't fold up. Rick stood behind her, lifting the red tresses, twisting it as he went, and a moment later he said, a rasp in his voice that hadn't been there before, "There you go."

She patted whatever he'd done, realising he'd left a few strands to fall either side of her neck while the rest was in a sort of chignon. "Thanks. Were you a hair stylist in a former life?" she asked.

"I didn't think you believed in all that," he pointed out. "Life after death, reincarnation, double rainbows all the way ..."

"I'm still here, aren't I?" she said.

He smiled. "Come on, Kate. I think you're going to enjoy this."

* * *

><p>Whatever Kate had expected of the town of Quarter Lake, it wasn't this. She'd always thought most places in the Adirondacks were either touristy or so far out of the way that everything had passed them by. Quarter Lake seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. There were certainly shops catering for the passing-through tourist trade, selling everything from t-shirts bearing the legend 'I 3 QL' to racoon hats (labelled as 100% synthetic – one size fits all), plus all the other bits and pieces that cluttered corners and stabbed unwary fingers in kitchen drawers before being consigned to the landfill in the sky, but these rubbed cheek by jowl with what looked like family run hardware stores, a rather chic custom jewellery store, and at least one bistro with tables outside, all clustered around and along the crossroads of the two main streets. The buildings were a mixture of turn of the last century and more modern imports, but tastefully done. The overall impression was somehow of comfort - it was clean, tidy and apparently friendly, at least from the smiles Rick was getting.<p>

"They seem nice," Kate said, after the fifth such encounter.

"It's how they treat everyone," he admitted.

"And Maggie?" At least two of the locals had asked after her.

"They like her." Rick shook his head in amused resignation. "I've had my place for nearly twenty years, and me they still treat like a newcomer."

"So how often did you bring her here?"

"Not often. Honestly. Not really since ... back when we ... but not for ... you don't have to ..."

The words were falling over themselves , and she had to smile. "It's okay. I won't take offence." She looked up and down the main street. "So how come this place has stayed the way it has?"

"They were lucky," Rick explained. "Quarter Lake is nowhere near as big as Glens Falls, but I guess it's close enough to commute to the cement works. And there's an interesting plaque in the church that draws the crowds. Besides, the timber and mining businesses around here lasted a bit longer than most, and the town was close enough to the highway to make it worthwhile building a couple of decent hotels for the ski trade ..." He shrugged, then laughed. "Honestly I don't know. Maybe they just had a damn good town council."

"You're admitting there's something you don't have the full SP on?"

"Oh, Kate, you wouldn't believe what I don't know." He grinned. "I learn something new every day."

"So what have you learned today?"

"Not sure." He looked her up and down. "That you look good blonde? Although I'm not sure about the red hair."

"That's not exactly important."

"Hey, I never said the things I learn are world-changing."

She looked at him, and for a moment he thought she was going to say something, words that might actually ... no. She turned away. "So when were you here last?"

"I used to bring Alexis here a lot when she was small, then she started school and it was only for holidays, and ..." He realised he was rambling again. "Not for a while."

"Since you started following me?"

"A couple of times. And it's shadowing, Kate. For research." He grinned, not at all the smirk she sometimes found so irritating.

"Call it that if you like," she said, starting to stroll along, looking in the large shop windows, "but not more than that?"

"Um ... no." He easily kept pace with her.

"I didn't think we'd kept you that busy."

"Well, you know, solving crimes, writing books ... it all takes time."

"And how many of your conquests did you bring here?" she asked, stopping to peer intently at a complicated piece of hardware that was probably meant to plough fields, or possibly shell peas.

"Uh ... none, actually."

"You mean after Maggie."

"Maggie was different, she ..." Yet again he paused, more than aware he was about to make yet another excuse. "But okay, if you count Mags, one."

"Did she decorate?"

"What?"

"The cabin. Did she help you decorate it?"

His brows drew down a little, and that adorable little valley appeared between them. _Not adorable_, Kate reprimanded herself. _Annoying. That's the word you were looking for. Annoying__._

"Yes, yes she did," he admitted. "Why?"

"Nothing. I like it. It's not you at all."

"It's a cabin."

"With two floors and a Jacuzzi in a deck out the back."

"Ah. You noticed."

"Mmn."

"I didn't put that in. It was there when I bought the place."

"Does it work?"

"Well ..."

"Does it?"

His shoulders slumped a little. "Yes. And yes, before you ask, I did have it renovated."

"Good," she said, smiling at his surprise. "It wouldn't do to let the place run down." She walked on.

After a moment he scurried after her. "Of course, if you wanted to change anything ..."

"No, no. Not really."

"Then there is."

"Another bedroom, maybe." For some reason a hunted look crossed his face, gone so quickly she wasn't sure she'd actually seen it. "Castle?"

"I thought we were going to get past you calling me that?"

She stopped so she could face him, her hands on her hips. "Stop trying to change the subject. _Is_ there another bedroom?"

"Technically, no."

"Technically." She tapped her foot.

"Well ... _technically_ there's a room under the eaves, but really small, not much more than a crawl space really. I mean, I couldn't stand up straight, but Alexis made it hers, and there's a bed and some shelving and ... a ... window ..." His voice faded away.

"That's the window in the roof?"

"Uh ... yes."

"Nice view."

"Yes."

"How do you get up to it?"

"There's a pull-down ladder. Alexis loved it, saying she was going mountaineering every night."

"I can imagine she did." He looked so miserable at the thought of the dressing down he was about to get, she took pity on him. "When I was five, my dad gave in to my nagging and bought me a pair of bunk beds."

His eyes opened wider. "Bunk beds? But you were an only child, weren't you?"

"Yes, but my best friend at the time, Alicia, slept in one with her sister, and it looked like so much fun, having to climb a ladder to go to sleep every night."

Rick smiled. "How long did you nag for?"

"About four months. I think I was going for the world record."

They started walking again.

"You should have tried the eyes. And the lip. Alexis could get anything she wanted out of me with the eyes and the lip."

"I think that's what I used in the end. Anyway, it took my dad a solid weekend to put it together. There was so much swearing my mom took me out for the day, just so I didn't pick up any bad language."

"Did it work?"

"More or less. But that's another story."

He chuckled. "Fine. But you tell me that another time."

"Deal." She laughed with him, then went on, "When we got back and he showed me his handiwork, I was speechless."

"You? Kate Beckett? Lost for words?" he teased.

"I was only five. And it didn't take long before I let out this squeal that they must have heard a dozen blocks away."

"I take it you were happy."

"Over the moon."

"So who had the bottom bunk?"

"My toys. They slept in luxury for the next six years until I got too big for the top bunk and had to have a new, grown up bed."

"What happened to it?"

"I think it's still in the garage at home. At Dad's home," she corrected herself. "When he took it apart he said he'd keep it until I had kids."

"To which you went all red and insisted you were never going to have children?"

"The redness I remember, but I think I was too mortified to speak." She grinned, but shook her head. "He should have sold it, or given it away."

"There's still time, Kate," he said, reaching out and touching her hand.

"I'm a cop," she reminded him. "Cops don't make great mothers."

"Jordan has."

Kate's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you have a mancrush on her?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, then laughed. "But the point is she's managed to maintain a career _and_ have a family."

"Yeah, well, maybe I haven't found the man I want to spend the rest of my life with."

"Not even Dr Motorcyle-Boy?" Rick knew he was picking at a barely healed wound, but found he couldn't keep his fingers from the scab.

"I did think, at one point ..." She shook her head again. "Josh is a doctor. He's always going to be a doctor, whether it's here or out in the wilds of Asia or Africa. I don't think he's ready for kids."

"Are you?"

The question hung in the air, flashing red and gold neon at them.

Kate studied him, at the odd look on his face, seeming to be composed partly of hope and fear. "You tell me, Castle. Were you ready for Alexis?"

"God, no," he admitted, pushing a hand through his hair. "She wasn't planned, you know. Meredith and I hadn't been married that long, and she was doing her acting, I was writing ... then suddenly she comes home one day in floods of tears."

"What had happened?"

"She'd thrown up in the dressing room. Twice. And one of the other actors suggested she do a pregnancy test."

"Ah. Was she angry?"

"Oh, yes. Accused me of doing it to her on purpose, just so she'd have to give up her career and stay at home. She threw a lot of stuff that day." He touched his forehead. "I've still got the scar to prove it."

"She never considered not having Alexis?"

Rick looked down, studying the pavement cracks. "She thought about it. I didn't. I told her I'd look after any baby, be a stay-at-home Dad. Being a writer, it wasn't going to be hard. And I'd get to be with Alexis every single day." His eyes snapped up. "I'm not as irresponsible as you think, Kate."

"Perhaps."

"Anyway, she had the baby, I stayed home and wrote, and I haven't regretted it for one moment of her life."

"Alexis is a lovely girl."

"Young woman," he corrected quietly. "She's going to leave me soon."

"And you'll be free to pursue any nubile young lovely you want."

"Oh, I think that ship's already sailed." His blue eyes were gazing into hers.

"I still need to go shopping," she said, breaking the mood.

"Fine." He allowed her to change the subject, yet again. "As long as I can advise you."

"You advise _me_?"

"Hey, I think I've been a great influence on your taste in clothes."

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing much. Not now, anyway."

"But there was?"

He opened his mouth to mention the rather masculine style she had affected when he first met her, the pink dress with ruffles that she'd worn for his book reading ... then stopped. "No, Kate," he said, laughing, deciding discretion was the better part of not having his nose tweaked or his ribs elbowed. "But I get the final say on what you get today." Then as a sharp pain in his belly suggested he had only been partly successful, he added, "Ow."

* * *

><p>The sun had just passed its zenith and was heading homewards when they got back to the cabin, and the reflections from the lake were dazzling.<p>

Not quite how Kate felt. As she climbed from the car she felt as if someone had opened a tap and all her energy had been drained from her, and what she really wanted to do was take a nap.

"You could lie down for a while," Rick said, taking the bags from the trunk. "You look sort of ... grey."

"That's the wig. It's not my colour." She dragged it from her head and scratched at her scalp. "But I do need to put my new stuff away."

"There's plenty of time."

"No." She shook her head. "No, better to do it now." She took her purchases from him.

"I can bring those."

"I'm perfectly capable of carrying them myself." She smiled, walking inside. "I could do with a coffee."

"No problem."

"And ... thanks, Castle."

"Rick."

"Rick." She chuckled. "I'm trying."

"Very."

Her eyes widened, and the chuckle became a laugh. "Turnabout is fair play, I suppose," she said, heading upstairs. "And I will pay you back."

"You don't have to."

"Yes, I do." She disappeared from sight, leaving him shaking his head.

"Kate, Kate, what am I going to do with you?" he asked himself, then pushed at least twenty options back into the corners of his mind where they came from. He turned to go to the kitchen to start the coffee, then saw his own case still sitting at the bottom of the stairs. No, that wouldn't be right, he told himself. She might be trying on some of her clothes, checking to make sure what he'd paid for was what she really wanted. And if he took his case up now, he might be interrupting her, _in flagrante_ so to speak. Or at least in that skimpy black bra he'd managed to catch sight of through a dressing room door that didn't fit very well.

He grinned and picked it up, taking the first step towards the bedroom when the pocket on the side banged against his leg and something inside crackled.

"Shit."

He'd forgotten. Last night he hadn't thought about unpacking, and this morning he'd been too busy with Kate to even think about it, but now the memory flooded back: Evelyn Montgomery, handing over an envelope from her husband.

He listened, head cocked, making sure Kate was going to be busy for a while, then he unzipped the pocket and pulled the manila package from inside.

His name was written on the outside, just as he remembered, and for a single heartbeat he wondered whether he shouldn't just call Jordan and hand it over to her. This his blood pumped once more and he ripped the end off.

Files. It looked as if it was full of the buff folders they used at the precinct, and as he pulled them carefully from inside he could see he was right. Four files, each stuffed with what looked like xeroxed reports, evidence sheets, lists of names and dates, but what kept his attention was a letter, a single page from a legal pad, handwritten and signed _Roy Montgomery_.

Skimming it through quickly, barely able to breathe, he didn't hear footsteps on the stairs behind him.

"What's that?"


	9. Chapter 9

"What's that?" Kate's voice seemed to fill the cabin.

Rick almost dropped the files as he span on his heel, fumbling as he tried to keep them from falling to the floor. "Damn it, you scared me," he complained, giving his heart time to slow down and his brain a moment to think of an excuse.

"I didn't know you were so jumpy." She smiled, then nodded at the envelope. "What _is_ that?"

"Nothing," he lied. "Just some post."

"You get post up here?" she teased.

"Sometimes. Mostly I have to go pick it up, but if someone's going by …"

"They drop it in? I didn't hear a car."

"Bicycle."

"Right." Laughing a little she added, "So what delights are inside?"

"Nothing of any interest. Just a gardening catalogue."

"I had no idea you'd got green fingers." She took a step towards him and peered closer. "Although it doesn't look like it's been through the post. And the handwriting is familiar."

"It's nothing."

"You know, it looks like …" Her face hardened. "Roy Montgomery's writing."

"It's not," he bluffed. "Similar, yes, but I told you. It's just a catalogue. I was going to toss it in the recycling." He turned away, making out he was about to do what he said, but she was quicker, in front of him before he could take more than a step.

"Castle." She blocked his path. "Is it from Montgomery?"

"No. Not at all."

"You know, for a world-famous author, you're a damn poor liar." She held out her hand. "Give it to me."

"No, Kate," he said firmly. "It's nothing to do with you."

"Nothing …" Her clear eyes flashed. "I watched him die!"

"And I thought I'd done the same with you!" he shot back, and suddenly the air was tight with tension. "I won't … I can't go through that again!"

"You have to let me see. It's about the case, isn't it? The man Montgomery talked about, the one he was afraid had become too powerful." She advanced a pace, and he had to make a similar move backwards to avoid her being able to pluck the files from his hands. "Castle, give it to me!"

"Drop it, Kate," he warned.

"You can't do this." Maybe it was the medication, but she'd changed on a pinhead from demanding to almost pleading. "If this has anything to do with Roy's death … you have to show me."

"Or what? You'll get your gun and shoot me?" He walked away, not sure where he was going, but knowing he couldn't bear her looking at him like that. "Go ahead. It couldn't hurt any more than when I thought you'd died."

"Are you always going to bring that up?"

"Until it stops being important, yes!"

"It's my job." She grabbed his arm, her strength surprising him as she pulled him back. "I'm a cop. It's what I do."

He shook his head. "I already worked that out, Kate. You'd rather chase the bad guys than deal with a proper relationship."

She slapped him. Not like she'd done previous times, when a tweaked nose or ear had been the punishment of choice, or even a fist to his bicep. This was full hand, fingers whipping around his cheek, and it stung more than a shot to the heart. He wanted to hold it, feel the heat, rub the pain away, but he stood still, the envelope and files clutched to his chest like a shield.

"What the hell do you know about proper relationships?" she demanded. "Maggie's the closest you've come to anything permanent, and you drove her away."

"She got married."

She ignored him. "And two wives and God knows how many thousand one night stands later, and you presume to lecture me on my love life?"

"You were quick enough to tell Josh he couldn't come."

"Did you want him here?"

"Would it make any difference if he was?" Rick countered. "You'd still want to work."

"My _mother_ isn't work," she said, suddenly very quiet, every tendon in her neck standing out with the effort of not shouting as she almost hissed out the words. "It's my life."

"And your life almost got you killed."

"Why should that matter to you?"

He stared at her, slack-jawed. "You're my friend! And my partner!"

"Is that all?"

His mouth closed with an audible clack of teeth, and he closed his eyes briefly. "I don't know, Kate. You tell me."

She held out her hand again. "Please, Castle."

"No."

The shock of the last few days must have got to her because she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, showing all the signs of trying not to cry. "Fine." She took a step back, then another, turned on her heel and strode outside.

In the time it took him to push the files back into the envelope and toss it onto the table, she already had a good head start. "Kate, wait," he called, his voice echoing across the lake.

She must have heard him, but ignored him, hurrying along the path by the water's edge.

"Kate!" He ran after her, angry at himself for not handling that at all well, and angry at her for being so damn stubborn. "Kate, wait!" She didn't know where she was going, and it wasn't necessarily a good idea to go wandering the shoreline if ... His foot slipped, stones giving way beneath him and sliding on hidden slime or moss, pitching him sideways. He put his hands out to stop the fall, but his knee twisted, and as he hit the ground something stabbed up into his shin. He yelled, partly in surprise, partly in pain, managing to roll onto his backside and grab his leg. Unaccustomed warmth slithered through his fingers. "Shit," he grunted.

"Sit still." It was Kate, going down onto her heels next to him. "Let me see."

"I thought you'd run off," he ground out.

"Let me see." Taking hold of his hands she peeled them away, inspecting the damage. "I think you'll live."

"I'm bleeding!"

"Can you stand up?"

"I ... don't know."

"Give me your arm."

He tried to scrabble back. "No. No, you'll hurt yourself. I can do it." Gritting his teeth he managed to clamber inelegantly to his feet.

She gazed at him, then shook her head. "Come on." Taking his arm she draped it around her shoulders. "We'll just be taking it slowly."

He hopped most of the way, trying not to put any weight on her if he could help it, and when they finally got back into the living room of the cabin he felt like his insides had been jiggled loose. "Are you okay?" he asked Kate as he eased down onto one of the sofas, more concerned with her health than his own.

"I'm fine. Do you have a first aid box?"

"Kitchen. Under the sink."

She nodded and walked out, giving Rick the chance to study the bloodstained hole in his jeans.

"You'd better get those off." Kate was back, a small green tin in her hands.

He looked up with a jerk. "What?"

"Your pants. I can't make running repairs otherwise." She almost smiled. "I doubt you've got anything I haven't seen before."

"Maybe so, but not mine."

"If you're feeling that vulnerable ..." She tossed a cushion at him. "Or do you have something to be ashamed of?"

He glared at her, then stood up, wincing. Undoing his belt buckle and zip, he lowered his jeans to half mast before letting go and allowing them to slide to his ankles. He kicked them off, his shoes going with them. "Happy?" he asked, sitting down again, crossing his arms and glowering like a little boy.

"Ecstatic," she responded, her lips twitching as she viewed the somewhat garish underwear he was sporting, blue seas and hibiscus flowers. "Not thinking you were going to get lucky, then?"

"Somehow I doubt it," he said shortly.

She raised an eyebrow minutely, then opened the first aid box, taking out a handful of medicated wipes and some large adhesive plasters. "This might hurt," she said, lifting his injured leg onto the sofa before sitting down. Using her teeth to tear a wipe open, she dabbed at the blood.

On a sharp intake of breath he agreed, "It does."

"Don't be such a baby." She peered at the wound. "If there was anything in it I think it's gone now. Looks like you fell on a sharp stone."

"Well, if you hadn't run away I wouldn't have had to follow."

She shot him a barbed glare. "So it's my fault?"

"I was chasing after you!"

"Did I ask you to?"

"No, but – ow!"

She'd swiped across the wound again. "I don't think you need stitches, but maybe you should see that doctor in town you mentioned."

"Kate –"

"Get a tetanus shot." She opened one of the large plasters. "You never know what you might catch out there."

"Damn it, Kate, he didn't want you to get yourself killed!"

She stopped, her eyes raising slowly to reach his, and he knew she understood he wasn't talking about any doctor. "It didn't work, did it?"

He shook his head, the emotion in her expression catching him like a knife in his guts. "Kate, don't."

She blinked, then looked back to what she was doing, making sure the antiseptic pad was over the still slightly oozing wound before pressing the adhesive down to his skin. "What's in the files, Rick?"

"Nothing. Notes. Nothing we didn't know."

"You know that for sure? You read all of them?"

"No, but –"

"I have to know. Too many people have died for what's in that envelope."

"You don't know what it is." Even to his own ears his protests sounded weak.

"You don't want to show me," the detective in her pointed out. "That makes it important." Swallowing visibly, she added, "Please, Rick."

He knew he shouldn't. The note had been very specific – _Don't tell Beckett._ Except that had been if she hadn't found out, and by his own laxness she was now gazing at him with those beautiful hazel eyes, and he didn't know if he could be strong enough. "Let me give this to Jordan," he said, trying one last time.

"She doesn't know about Ray." Kate's voice was now barely even a whisper. "And she can't. Can you imagine what that would do to Evelyn and her children?"

The trouble was he _could_ imagine, and all too well. The stigma, the disgrace, despite the fact that Montgomery had tried to atone, to be the best cop he could be. To the gossipers and the tattle-tales and the tell-it-all tabloids, that wouldn't matter. 'Dirty cop' would be the least of it – and that label would stain his family too. Still … "What about truth? Justice?"

"You can't tell me you don't know by now they're not the same thing. Finding out the truth is one thing, but justice is knowing what to do with it."

"I'm sure that's what the three of them thought when they were shaking down the bad guys." The instant the words were out of his mouth he wished he could claw them back, expecting her to be furious at the suggestion she was anything like them.

And still she surprised him. "We all have it in us, Rick," she said softly. "To think we can take shortcuts, let this one go free but make that one pay. To think we're above the law because we're part of it." She sighed deeply. "And we can just as easily become part of the problem."

"You'd never be like that."

"No?"

"No." He leaned forward, putting his hand on hers. "You're the most honest cop I know."

"We thought that about Roy Montgomery." She sighed deeply. "No-one else can know about him. You and me, Esposito, Ryan … we're it. And right now I don't care how many laws I have to break to keep his name free and clear of all this."

He still felt the need to protest. "Kate, he _was_ part of this. If he hadn't done what he had –"

"How far back do you want to go?" she asked, so close to him that he could smell her perfume, something warm but cut through with mint. "If he hadn't been born? If his parents had never met?" She turned her hand so they were palmed together, curling her fingers around his as she went on, "Just think of all the bad guys he _did_ put away."

He was going to give in. He knew it, and so did she. And he'd feel guilty and ashamed for doing so, even as he also felt relief. If she hadn't found out, he might have been able to keep it a secret, but it would have blackened their relationship, and the truth was she could read him like one of his novels, and it wouldn't take Braille for her to know something was wrong. "It doesn't help much," he admitted.

"Show me. We can go over it together."

He exhaled heavily. "Okay. Fine."

She didn't crow, didn't look smug, but just nodded and stood up. "Thank you." She crossed to the table, the envelope laying on its polished surface, the silent ticking bomb even louder. Glancing back at him over her shoulder to where he still sat motionless, she asked, "Coming?"

He nodded, and for one brief, blinding moment wished with all his might that he'd never met Kate Beckett. Then he was back in the room, getting awkwardly to his feet, feeling the plaster on his leg pulling slightly. Bending down he picked up his jeans, tugging them on, watching her as she ran her fingertips across the envelope, over his name then up to the unfranked stamps. He noted the way a tendril had come loose from the scrunchie she'd used to catch her hair back and was now sitting on her shoulders, and the way those shoulders became her back, curving down to the slight swell of her hips, and how her knees were flexed slightly as she leaned forward … and knew he was lost. As he joined her, breathing in the scent that was probably toothpaste and soap, he could only content himself with the thought that, no matter what happened over the next few days, the next month or year, whatever she wanted right now he'd give her, and give it gladly.

"He didn't post it," she said quietly, interrupting his thoughts.

"There's a note. It ... explains."

She glanced up at him, then tipped the files onto the polished table, turning and smoothing the single sheet on top so she could see it properly. He'd only read it once, but the words seemed engraved on his soul.

'_Castle. If you get this then I'm dead. Which is maybe as it should be, considering what I've done. But I'm going to try and make amends. These files are my legacy to you. If I die Evelyn will get them to you. If I don't then you won't ever read this note. Whatever happens, don't show Kate – she'll want to use the information, and the whole point of what I'm doing is to save her life. This is for insurance, not revenge. Keep her safe, Castle. I know how much you care about her, and no matter how hard she pushes you away, she feels the same. I really hope I'll be around to shout at the pair of you in person, but if not then it's been a privilege.' _It was signed _Roy Montgomery_.

He felt rather than saw her shoulders slump, knowing she was reliving that night, and wished he could take the pain for her. Something splashed onto the page, blurring the ink, and he felt his heart break. "Kate ..."

She shook her head, wiping at her cheeks. "Later," she said, putting the note carefully to one side and turning to the files.

There were three of them, buff folders probably purloined from the stationery store at the precinct, each filled with photocopied pages. The sheets were of varying qualities, some creamy rather than white, suggesting they'd been copied at different times.

"He was collecting for a while," Kate said, giving words to his vague feelings. She began to sort, first by date. "At least ten years."

"Since he met you." He absently rubbed his cheek where she'd slapped him. "It must have made him see things in a different light."

"Maybe it just made him see, period. It's easy to close your eyes to something you don't want to have happened."

"Tell me about it," Rick said. "I've got two ex-wives to prove it."

"Don't expect any sympathy from me over them. You've only got yourself to blame."

He could see her mouth was twitching slightly, and attempted to lighten the mood further. "They both seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Ideas usually do." She paused a couple of moments then added, "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Hitting you. Do you need some ice?"

He realised he'd been rubbing. "No, I'll live," he assured her. "Besides, I probably deserved it." He shrugged. "You've got a hell of a right arm, Detective Beckett."

"You should be glad I pulled it."

He had to smile. "Believe me, I am."

Finally turning her head enough to look at him, she said, "And I shouldn't have given into the temptation."

"What, to pull it?"

"To hit you in the first place."

"I blame Dr Motorcycle Boy," Rick said. "All that dope in your system, you can't be held responsible." He chuckled. "And I've still got all my teeth, which is a bonus." He made a show of running his tongue around them. "Although a couple do feel loose."

She made a noise that might have been a stifled laugh, warming him through to his soul. "I didn't hit you that hard."

"My ears are still ringing."

"You're incorrigible."

"That's what you love about me." He saw her eyes widen, her mouth open ready to make some kind of sharp retort, and quickly went on, "But that's beside the point. What about these files?" He picked up a handful of sheets and started reading.

For a couple of minutes neither spoke, each going through the files then putting the pages in a pile for the other to read.

Finally Kate said, "A lot of it's copies of the original reports. Before they were altered."

"Insurance, like Roy said."

"I don't know." Her brow furrowed. "If it was just that, how come there's stuff here that he was never involved in?"

"Like?"

Kate pulled out two sets of papers, each clipped in the corner. "There's an officer-involved shooting in Queens in February '90, another downtown in the July of that year." She shook her head in frustration. "But I don't get why they're in here – there's no link I can see."

Rick took the reports. "Apart from two dead cops," he said, noting the contents, then shrugged at her glare. "It's a link."

"That's like saying your books are in the same bracket as Charles Dickens, just because they're printed on paper." She took the pages back.

"Ouch," Rick murmured.

"You know what I mean. And these ..." She gestured with the reports. "Different killers, one using a .45 in a grocery store and the other a 9 millimetre drive-by. There's nothing to indicate ..." She stopped, her voice trailing off, reading again, all her attention on the typescript.

"What?" Rick asked, trying to see over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"It says a plate in their body armour failed. Both of them."

"Is that likely?"

"It happens, but –"

"Plate." Rick snapped his fingers then started to rummage through the documents he'd put aside for her to read.

"What?"

He found what he wanted. "Officer Nunez," he said, holding out a page. "March 1990. Her vest failed because the plate inside shattered."

Kate almost snatched it from his fingers. "Olivia Nunez. Went to answer a domestic, took a slug to the chest. She survived but sued the city."

"Read the note at the bottom."

She tilted it to see it more clearly, and felt her heart miss a beat when she recognised Roy Montgomery's writing. "_'Made to drop the case'_," she read out loud. She checked the date then looked up into his face. "Rick, this shooting, the deaths of Monteith and Colby ... they all happened within the same six month period."

"That's a hell of a coincidence." Rick was glad she'd his first name without prompting, but refrained from commenting on it, instead merely adding, "And Roy must have thought it was important."

Kate began to pace, her hands on her hips. "I don't get it," she said, talking more to herself than to him. "He wasn't involved in any of these cases, and I have no idea what the standard failure rate is for bulletproof vests."

"Then let's find out." He tugged out his cellphone and started thumbing icons like there was no tomorrow.

"What are you doing?"

"There has to be something on the internet," he explained. "Some of my best ideas have come from googling."

"Please. Your love life is none of my affair."

He flashed her a grin then went back to his phone. "Just hang on."

"I'm surprised you can get a signal."

"In here, yes. I got a guy from town to put an antenna in the walls, but outside, not so much." His eyes widened. "Got it!"

She stepped to his side and tilted her head to see then glared even harder at him. "You hacked a Federal database?"

"No," he said, trying to look innocent. "Freedom of Information Act. This site just reproduces certain documents."

"Anyway, this is useless. It won't be specific enough." She sighed heavily, then looked back at the report, turning it idly over. She stiffened.

"Kate?" The hairs on the back of his neck lifted.

"There's another note, on the reverse."

"What does it say?"

She lifted her head. "Buddy Hackett."

"The actor?"

"The cop. Sergeant Charles 'Buddy' Hackett, who's been looking after the NYPD Archives for the last twenty-five years."

"Archives? You mean in the basement?"

"No, I mean that's just for recent and open files. I mean the Archives for the whole of the city." She chewed her lip. "When I first became a cop I used to go there regularly, trying to find something that would explain what happened to my mother. It's where I first met Montgomery."

"He told me."

Kate sighed. "I thought he was being kind, but I've come to realise he was down there to take the incriminating files, amend them."

"Kate, he saw you as a second chance. An opportunity to make it right."

"No, Rick. You did that. You made me look at things differently."

"I took you back down the rabbit hole."

"I'm not sure I ever left."

"Then let me be your Alice." His face screwed up. "That didn't come out the way I intended."

"Oh, I don't know. I can see you in pigtails and a gingham dress."

"Only on my days off."

She smiled slightly, but most of her thoughts were back on that night in the hangar. "He said he'd let the devil loose."

"Someone high up, someone in a position of power." Rick gazed at her. "But these files don't give a name. And what do the death of two cops ten years before your mother's have to do with anything?"

"I hope that's a rhetorical question, because I have no idea." She pushed her hands through her hair, dislodging the scrunchie so it fell unheeded to the floor. She murmured something, just a single word, and for a moment Rick wasn't sure if he'd heard it right or only imagined it. As much as he hardly ever swore, Kate was a saint by comparison, something very unusual by the standards of the occasionally colourful language in the squad room, so for her to curse was extremely rare. Still, it said a lot for her state of mind.

"Maybe we should leave it," Rick suggested. "Come back to it fresh, if we want to."

She more or less ignored him. "I need to be back there."

"No!" He blurted out the word before he could stop himself.

Turning on him, she said, "Castle, there are leads. Ones we didn't have before."

"Did you actually read Roy's note?" Rick could feel his annoyance building, and it wouldn't take much for it to top over into full-blown fury. "He didn't send it to you – he sent it to me. To stop you doing exactly this."

"He didn't know I'd get shot."

"Do you honestly think it would have changed anything if he had? If anything he'd have been ever more adamant."

"It's my mother's murder!"

"No. It's your obsession." He held up a hand to stop the angry words from spilling through her lips. "And I understand. I hate it, but I do understand. And you're not alone, Kate. But we know who the murderer was – you killed him, saving _my_ life. And we'll find out who ordered it. But you're staying put."

Fire flashed in her eyes. "You think you can make me?"

"Yes." He crossed his arms. "I've got the car keys. You _could_ walk into town, but it's a fair way, and the nearest train station is further still. Say you made it – you could try to hire a car, but you'd need cash, as your credit cards are probably frozen, since you're technically dead. Besides, any use – as I've already pointed out – might flag up to the bad guys that you're still alive, and they'd be actively hunting you." He steam-rollered on, not letting her get a word in. "So you get back to the city – what then? You're going to stay with Lanie, outing her in danger too? Or Jenny? Or maybe you'll just pitch up at Jordan's door, and she can put you back in protective custody before you could blink, _and_ she'd want to know why you're back. So you tell me, Katherine Beckett – what exactly do you plan on doing?"

She gaped, trying to form words but putting him in mind of a drowning goldfish, and he waited for a punch to his jaw, positive that this time she wasn't going to pull it. He was trying to remember if he had his dentist's phone number on him when she surprised him. Again.

"Do you have to be so bloody right?" she asked, gazing at him.

He coughed, clearing his throat. "The law of averages says I have to be, once in a while."! His own anger began to dribble away. "Kate, I know how you feel."

"Do you? Really?"

"Really. I'm a writer. I can put myself in almost anyone's shoes." He attempted a slight lift to his lips. "You'd be amazed the number of times I've been reduced to tears writing a love scene. It's embarrassing."

"And yet you keep writing them."

"Yeah, well, I'm a sucker for sentimentality." He risked life – and most definitely limb – by reaching out for her, pulling her into his embrace. "It's okay to be frustrated, Kate."

For a moment she was stiff, then she relaxed into his arms, breathing deep of eau de Castle. "Maybe you do know, after all."

"It shows you're alive."

A touch of mischief stabbed at her, and it was with a very slight smile that she said, "You need to shower."

"Are you suggesting I'm not as fresh as I should be?" he asked, making his voice sound almost insulted.

"I'm not suggesting it."

He rubbed his hand up and down her back, wary of tightening his hold in case he hurt her, but not wanting to let go. "I'll have you know I'm famous in some circles for my distinctive perfume."

"You've been wearing the same clothes for over twenty four hours."

"Point taken. I shall go and clean up." He let go, but kept his hands on her shoulders. "You're not planning on doing anything stupid while I'm gone, are you?"

"Are you taking the car keys into the shower with you?"

"Yes. Are you going to follow me in to wrestle them from me?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"I think I'll pass."

"You don't know what you're missing."

"I've got a good imagination too."

He stared at her, open-mouthed in his own turn. "Miss Beckett, do you imagine me naked?" he asked in mock horror.

Her cheeks tinted the very faintest of pinks. "Of course not."

He looked smug. "Right." Dropping his hands he took a step towards the stairs then paused. "So what are you planning on doing?"

"We act like good cops."

"I'm not a cop."

"You've been shadowing me for a long while. I think we'll let that slide this time, don't you think?"

"Do I get a badge?"

"No." She lowered herself carefully onto one of the chairs at the table. "Although we are going to need help."

"Help?"

"If you won't let me go back to New York to look into all this, then someone's going to have to do it for us."

"Jordan?"

"Nope. At least, not yet."

"Then ..." Rick stopped, feeling more than a little dense. "Oh."

"Right." Kate smiled, and this time it was genuine and warm. "So, where's that phone she gave you?"

* * *

><p>"Are you sure this is going to be okay?" Ryan asked as Esposito drew the car to a smooth halt outside the large, neat, detached house, although the expanse of grass in front needed cutting.<p>

"She's going to take it for what it is, if that's what you mean." Esposito turned off the engine. "We're just making sure she's okay."

"You don't really think they'd go after her, do you?"

"No." He thought for a moment. "No, I don't. Whoever _they_ are."

"Do you feel as useless as I do?"

"Pretty much, bro. Pretty much." He climbed from the car, knowing his partner was following suit.

It was early afternoon, and the sun felt pleasantly warm, but neither man stopped to enjoy the day. Walking up the slightly sloping path, Esposito lifted his hand, but paused, taking a deep breath before ringing the bell.

It only took a few moments before the door opened, and she stood framed in the sunshine, a look of surprise on her face. "Javier. Kevin."

"Mrs Montgomery."

"I didn't expect you."

Esposito half-nodded towards his partner. "We just dropped by, see if you needed anything."

She broke into a tired smile. "Everyone has been so helpful."

Ryan stepped forward. "If there's anything we can do ... maybe mow the grass?"

"That's ... _was_ Roy's job." She swallowed. "Every weekend, whether he was working or not. Sometimes he'd do it in the middle of the night. I told him he was probably annoying the neighbours, but he says ... _said_ if he didn't have time to anything else, he'd make sure he did that." She'd made a face, angry with herself that she couldn't always remember to use the past tense, and now her face was etched again with lines of grief.

"It will get better," Esposito murmured, putting his hand on her arm.

"I'm sure it will." She didn't sound convinced, but took a deep breath and pulled steel from somewhere. "Anyway, my son's coming home from college this weekend – I'm sure he'll want to do it." She scratched a smile. "But come in. You're not my only visitor."

"Then we won't intrude," Ryan put in quickly.

"No, it's okay. She's one of yours." Evelyn stepped back inside.

Esposito crossed the threshold then wiped his feet carefully on the mat before looking pointedly at Ryan and nodding down. His partner rolled his eyes but did the same, closing the door behind him. They followed Evelyn into a large, slightly cluttered but homely living room, where a woman they both recognised was sitting on the sofa.

Hazel Fortunas was probably in her early fifties, and displayed a faded prettiness that had no doubt attracted a lot of men in the past, but now merely reminded them of better days. She seemed more petite than she actually was, her well cut and very expensive suit hiding any flaws in her figure, but anyone who knew her was aware she hid a sharp intellect as well, often having used her appearance to lull those she prosecuted into a false sense of security before pouncing like a mongoose on a rattlesnake.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she said to Esposito. In her position she knew a lot of the detectives in the NYPD, particularly as she used to be one herself. She'd had a comparatively short but spectacular career, having been involved in several high profile arrests, then confounded all her critics and supporters alike by turned down a captain's desk in favour of taking on the office of Assistant District Attorney. Swapping her gun for rhetoric, she had carved quite a niche for herself, known for being tenacious to the point of obnoxiousness. A lot of bad guys had been put behind bars, but she wasn't known for her tact, and had rubbed many of her colleagues up the wrong way.

As a case in point, Hazel Fortunas and Javier Esposito did not get on.

"Just dropped by," the Latino detective said. "Seeing if Mrs Montgomery needed anything."

"Isn't that sweet." She couldn't have sounded less sincere if she'd tried. "I was doing the exact same thing myself."

"Great minds," Ryan said.

That earned him a smile. His easy-going nature made the Irishman popular, and even a hard-nosed woman like Hazel wasn't immune.

"Ms Fortunas was kind enough to bring her condolences in person," Evelyn said.

"I knew Roy for years," Hazel commented. "He is a great loss."

"Yes." Evelyn passed them to retake her seat. She indicated the tray on a small table between them, a delicate china tea set resting on it. "Can I offer you anything?"

"No, thanks, Mrs Montgomery." Esposito switched his own warmth on. "We won't stop."

"Are you sure?" Evelyn obviously considered someone coming to pay their respects should at least get refreshments.

"We're sure, Mrs M," Ryan put in. "But if you need anything, anything at all, you just call."

"I will, Kevin. Thank you." She went to rise again, but Hazel was quicker.

"I'll see them out," she said, rising swiftly to her feet.

"Thank you," Evelyn nodded.

Hazel followed Ryan and Esposito to the front door, pausing with her hand on the latch. "How's the case going?" she asked, dropping her tone so the other woman wouldn't hear.

"Case?" Esposito asked, his eyebrows lifted, his dark face inscrutable.

"Let's not play games, Detective," Hazel said, her voice taking on a harder edge.

"We're not part of it."

She smiled tightly. "No, but I don't doubt you're being kept informed, even if it's only unofficially.  
>Besides, you know I can just request the files."<p>

Ryan spoke quickly, before Esposito could open his mouth and put his size 12s inside. "There's nothing much to tell. Captain Montgomery was killed in a shoot-out with several suspects, who also died. As for Beckett ..." He shrugged.

"Any sign they're connected?"

"Not that we've seen," Esposito said, with total accuracy. They hadn't seen, hadn't been there when Montgomery was shot, and the bigger lie was always better when hidden by the exact truth.

"If you do hear anything, I'd like to be kept in the loop. Roy was an old friend, and Kate Beckett was a credit to the force."

"Sure," Ryan said easily. "We'd better get going."

"Of course." Hazel rewarded him with a warm smile and opened the door.

Esposito at least waited until he heard it close behind him and they were halfway down the path before he exploded. "That woman puts sharks to shame!"

"I don't see what you've got against her," Ryan said honestly. "She's always nice to me."

"I just don't trust her. All smiles on the surface ... like a piranha. And she probably just wants to get into your pants."

"Not my type." They reached the car, but neither man made any move to get in.

"I bet Jenny's glad."

"Hey, I'm a one gal man, and I've been lucky enough to find the right gal." Ryan grinned.

"You've been through enough wrong ones."

"Not that many," his partner protested, but not seriously. He knew his friend needed to let off a little steam, then he'd be fine.

"Chloe, Patricia, Karen, Miranda –"

"I have never knowingly dated anyone called Miranda."

Esposito finally cracked a smile. "Must have been me, then."

"And now you've got Lanie." Ryan poked him lightly in the shoulder. "We could have a double wedding."

"Whoa, bro." Esposito put up his hands in self defence. "We've only been going out for a few weeks."

"Months," Ryan corrected. "And I knew how I felt about Jenny after half an hour."

"Yeah, but you're a softie."

"It's my Irish heart."

"Well, don't you go suggesting anything like that to Lanie."

"How do you know she hasn't already been thinking about it?" Ryan asked, enjoying his partner's discomfiture.

"Don't even joke."

A cellphone rang and both men looked at each other.

"It's not mine," Ryan said.

"Me neither." Esposito glanced around, then realised. "I think it's the batphone."

"What?"

Esposito didn't answer, but slid into the driver's seat, reaching underneath to bring out the second phone Jordan Shaw had supplied. "It's ... her."

"Her?"

"_Her_."

It clicked, and Ryan quickly ran round to the other side of the car and climbed in. "You sure?" he asked.

"Could be Castle but I doubt it, not this soon."

Ryan couldn't hide the grin. "She can't help it, can she? Getting involved."

"Got that right." For a moment Esposito was about to answer the still ringing cellphone, but then he realised Ryan hadn't seen or spoken to Beckett since he thought she was dead, so he tossed it to his partner. "Here. You talk to her."

If anything Ryan's grin got wider, and he punched the 'answer' button with obvious pleasure. "Ryan," he said into the phone.

"_I knew he'd never hold out,"_ Kate's voice said, amusement travelling easily through the ether. _"And I've got a job for you."_

"Whatever you need."

Esposito shook his head, but he started the engine, pulling away from the sidewalk and heading back towards the city.

As they drove away, neither of them was aware of Hazel Fortunas watching them out of the window, a thoughtful look on her face.


	10. Chapter 10

Not many people knew it was here. A nondescript building, looking more like the surrounding warehouses than the repository of a century of NYPD casefiles and evidence boxes, it was said there were doorways to other dimensions down in its stacks, and Ryan couldn't help but half believe.

"I don't like this place," he muttered, shivering slightly, and not just from supposed myths. Due to the more than slightly flammable nature of paper in particular, the temperature in the archives was tightly controlled, kept low thanks to efficient modern air conditioning units.

"That why you always get me to come here if we need anything?" Esposito asked, opening the door and stepping into the cool.

"And when did you last do that?" Ryan countered.

His partner grinned and turned to the metal grille sitting on top of the counter at the end of the small room. "Hey," he called. "Anyone there?"

"Hold your horses," a smoke-etched voice responded from somewhere in the dark recesses. "Nothing's that important it won't wait a minute."

"How would you know if we haven't told you?" Ryan asked.

The owner of the voice chuckled, sounding like pebbles down a headstone. "Yeah, well, maybe you've got me there." A man limped from the gloom, his uniform neat and tidy, his hair steel grey and brushed back from a high forehead. "Hey, don't I know you?"

"I'm Esposito and this is Ryan," the Latino detective said, showing his badge. "We've been here a couple of times."

"Yeah, I remember." Sergeant Hackett leaned on the counter. "So what's put a fire under you?"

"Roy Montgomery."

Hackett gazed at him, then exhaled loudly. "He was a good man."

"That he was," Ryan agreed. "And our boss."

"That's bad."

"Yeah."

"Although I don't know what you think I can help you with."

"He came here a lot, did he?" Esposito asked, trying another tack.

"Once in a while. Not for a year, maybe, but he'd come by and we'd shoot the breeze." Hackett shrugged. "Guess he won't be doing that anymore."

"What did you used to talk about?"

"This and that."

Ryan was getting frustrated. "Bulletproof vests?"

"No such thing," Hackett said firmly. "Bullet resistant, maybe."

"Only some were better than others, eh?"

"Any particular ones you were interested in?"

Ryan glanced at Esposito, who nodded. "How about the ones worn by Nunez, Monteith and Colby?"

The exhalation was ever more pronounced. "I always knew someone'd come back some day to ask about them," Hackett said, tucking his thumbs into his belt.

"So?" Esposito prompted.

For answer Hackett fished a set of keys from his pocket and unlocked the mesh door. "You'd better come inside." He waited until they were through before locking it again. "Don't want any unwelcome visitors, do we?" he asked before leading the way into the interior.

Ryan stifled a sneeze at the dust and smell of decaying paper, then wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "If I catch something here I'm blaming you," he said to Esposito as they followed the older policeman, his slight limp meaning they kept up easily. "And I hope you're remembering the way in," he added. "I'd hate to end up a permanent exhibit."

Esposito shook his head but forbore to comment.

Hackett led them through so many twists and turns that they fully expected to come out in a world where people used flamingos to hit hedgehogs through croquet hoops, but instead they came to a small clearing in the shelves, almost entirely filled with a table and four chairs.

"Take a pew," he instructed. "I'll be right back." He disappeared down a side turning.

Esposito sat down, leaning back in his chair.

"How'd he get the limp?" Ryan asked, joining his partner but unable to relax.

"Bank raid," Esposito, repository of a whole library of useless information, said. "Him and his partner surprised a gang a quarter of a century ago. His partner got a slug to the head, Hackett ended up with the limp and a choice between disability retirement and this."

"I'd have taken the retirement," Ryan asserted. "Do you think being down here turns you crazy? It would me." He kept looking at the shadows, imaging all sorts of things waiting to turn his blood to ink and suck him dry.

"Luckily we're not all alike," Hackett said, coming back into the circle of light. "I found my niche, in more ways than one." He put a box onto the table. "How much do you know?"

"The names," Esposito said. "And three vests that failed."

"It's more than most." Hackett took the lid off the box and lifted out the contents, placing it on the table. "It's all about money," he said, looking up from the vest into their eyes. "Saving it, spending it ... and just how much goes into whose back pocket."

"Go on," Esposito said.

"Montgomery was the one who figured it out," Hackett said. "At least, picked up the pieces and put them together after the fact. The 200G. Supposed to be the next best thing in protective bodywear." He placed his hand on the vest, right above the heart. "And a damn sight cheaper than the rest on the market."

"Which is good," Ryan put in.

"Sure. If it works." Before either of the detectives could comment, Hackett went on, "The department was looking at renewing contracts, and this came up." He tapped the word POLICE emblazoned across the chest. "Lightweight, Kevlar reinforced, with a new kind of plating that the makers guaranteed would stop a high velocity round dead in its tracks."

"That's impossible," Esposito, army veteran of more than one tour of duty, said. "Nothing can do that, not even the best we have now."

"I don't get it," Ryan said.

"Vests work best against lead rounds," Hackett explained. "The plates flatten them out, so the energy dissipates."

"No, I mean I know how they work. But why didn't we know about these new types?"

"Because nobody uses them anymore." Hackett pushed a finger into the hole. "See this?"

"Looks like a .45," Ryan suggested.

"That it is. Now feel the plate underneath."

Ryan did as he was told, lifting the vest so he could put one hand either side. His eyes widened. "It's in pieces."

Hackett sat back. "The plate was supposed to be a new kind of polymer, designed to absorb the impact, deflect it, stop most of the blunt force trauma connected with being hit by a bullet. And the first handful did just that, 'specially those that were tested before the contracts were awarded. Big money, too."

"So what happened?"

"Nothing, for a few months. New vests got issued as and when needed, or as the recruits came out of the Academy, but most cops don't ever get shot like that. And there was still stock in the old type, so there was no rhyme or reason as to who got what. Then an officer went down."

"Kyle Monteith?" Ryan asked.

"Yeah. Of course, they put it down to the fact that the shooter was more or less right against the vest when the gun went off. Then it happened again, a domestic, a measly .38 that should've hardly slowed Olivia Nunez down, let alone almost burst her heart. This is her vest, and you can feel what happened to it. Third time a cop was trying to break up a street fight, got gunned down from a car."

"When was this?" Ryan asked.

"Twenty years ago, give or take." Hackett looked around his domain. "I've been down here a long time, and I retire in a few months."

"And you don't want to make a fuss," Esposito guessed.

"I got a wife, kids, a grandchild on the way, and a pension. No. I'm not looking to make a fuss."

"We understand." Ryan nodded. "But you'd better go on. You'd better tell us the rest of it."

"There was a Fed, investigating organised crime. He must have heard something, seen something ... anyway he put two and two together, and came up with the fact that it was the new vests, took it to the high ups. And suddenly they were all recalled, ostensibly for restitching, when in fact they were just replaced on the sly." He tapped the one in front of them. "This is probably the only one that still exists."

Esposito stirred uneasily. "How come we haven't heard about any of this?"

"Because it was brushed under the carpet. Nobody wanted to admit they'd made an error in judgement that resulted in the death of two cops, the serious injury of a third, so the contracts were cancelled, paid off, and one of the old suppliers drafted back in."

"But you don't throw the baby out with the bathwater," Ryan said. "Just because these were defective, there's no reason to assume the technology doesn't work. And you said, it did, at least on those test models."

"Oh, it works. Except the scuttlebutt was that it's so damn expensive to make work that nobody can afford it. Those initial vests cost about five times the usual, and that was just to draw in the contracts."

"They were putting officers' lives at risk just to make a quick buck?" Esposito was appalled. He'd seen at first glance was inferior body armour was like, how it gave a false sense of security that all too often ended in blood.

"Like I told you," Hackett said, standing up slowly and picking up the vest. "It all comes down to hard cash."

"Wait," Ryan said as the older man slid the body armour back into the box. "Can't we take that with us?"

"Nope. I shouldn't even have it."

"So how come you do?" Esposito wanted to know.

Hackett shrugged. "I first met Montgomery when he was a rookie, so wet behind the ears he could've grown roses. Anyway, he liked looking through files. He said it gave him a feel for the crime in the city. As I said, he used to come in, spend a coupla hours reading randomly, and we used to talk. He was okay."

"And?" Ryan prompted, seeing his life stagnating before his eyes.

"_And _the point is he brought it around one day about eight years ago, said he'd got it from the Nunez family. He asked me to look after it, made me promise to keep it safe until the time came." He taped the lid down again.

"How did he get involved?" Esposito asked.

"I don't know how it started, but about eight years ago he wanted to do a paperchase. He didn't want any help, but he found something. Maybe more than one something. He gave me the vest, explained a few things then told me to keep my mouth shut. And I have."

"Until now."

"Yeah, well, Montgomery's dead, and any evidence he had is most likely long gone. And I'll just be putting this back where it's been these past few years."

"So who was he? The Fed who started all this?" Ryan wanted to know.

"You can't talk to him, if that's what you're thinking. He's dead."

Esposito glanced at his partner, the same thought in both their heads. "Then he won't mind you telling us, will he?"

Hackett glared at them for a moment, then nodded. "Armen. Bob Armen." Then he seemed to realise what he'd said. "You'd better go now. I've got things to do before I lock up."

"Well, thanks for your help," Esposito said, getting to his feet.

"And keep that safe," Ryan added, following.

"I wasn't intending doing anything less."

* * *

><p>Outside in the comparatively fresh city air, the two partners waited until they were safely back in the car before staring at each other.<p>

"Whoo," Ryan exclaimed. "Do you believe that?"

"I can't see any reason for Hackett to lie."

"It opens up a whole can of worms if it's true."

"Bob Armen, Montgomery, Beckett's mother ... it's all connected up like a spider's web." Esposito sat back.

"And all of it hearsay," Ryan added. "We need a lot more information, bro."

"Yeah. Like who got paid off over the contracts."

"And who made the evidence go away." Ryan stared out at the late afternoon light. "What about Beckett? Do we call her?"

Esposito glanced at his watch. "No. Time's getting on. And she'd only keep Castle awake all night wanting to theorise."

"Is that what you think they're doing?" Ryan asked, a twinkle back in his eye. "Theorising?"

"Knowing Kate Beckett, I think it's pretty much all they're doing."

"You think they're ever going to get their act together?"

"I don't know," Esposito admitted, rubbing at his chin. "I thought, maybe, when he found out she was still alive ... but this is Beckett and Castle we're talking about."

"Yeah." It was on a sigh that Ryan added, "Maybe Lanie can talk some sense into them."

"It hasn't worked so far. Besides, Lanie doesn't know Beckett's alive."

Ryan grinned. "Oh, yes, I forgot. You know, I really want to be a fly on the wall when you tell her."

"I'm hoping she's going to be so pleased to have her best friend back she'll forget to be angry with me."

"You just keep hoping, Javier," Ryan said, patting him on the shoulder. "You just keep hoping."

* * *

><p>Kate, in her usual fashion, woke some few seconds before her body, lying still and taking in her surroundings. The room was mostly shadows, but a bar of light between curtains not quite closed suggested the day had begun, and birdsong just on the edge of her hearing confirmed this. Something else, too, but much closer. Breathing, and not her own.<p>

Castle. Of course.

The evening before had been fun, and fragments swam to the surface. Castle had cooked steaks on a barbecue he'd dragged out from under the decking at the back and set up by the water's edge. The smell had made her mouth water, and she had thoroughly enjoyed the simple meal. He opened a bottle of red wine, but she only had a sip or two, more concerned about how the alcohol might react with the pills she was still taking.

Sitting in the last of the daylight, as stars began to appear overhead, they talked about nothings, Castle regaling her with tales of when he and Alexis used to come up on vacation, while she responded with stories of her own childhood. Most definitely they didn't mention the case, or Montgomery, or what the boys might have found out back in the city.

A cool breeze made her shiver, and Castle suggested they go inside.

"I can put a DVD on if you want, if you're not ready for bed," he said. "I've got one of my favourites, Forbidden Planet, here, if you'd want to –"

She poked him hard in the shoulder. "You told me you'd never seen it!"

He managed to look ingenuous, rubbing at the bruise. "Did I?"

"We went to see it, a couple of months ago. Remember?" She took a step forward, crowding his space. "You made me explain the plot to you!"

"I did? That was this?" He shook his head in mock sadness. "You know, I must be getting old. My memory's going."

"That isn't the only that'll be going if you do that again."

He'd look hurt, but couldn't keep it up and began to laugh. After a long moment contemplating murder, she joined in.

As it was, they talked all through it, commenting on the plot, the shortness of the skirts, and who turned up in subsequent films and on the TV.

Bedtime had been interesting too. She'd gone up first, leaving him to lock the doors and turn out the lights. Washing carefully and brushing her teeth, she changed into a loose pair of long jersey shorts and a t-shirt, knowing she hadn't taken long, but still Castle was in bed when she emerged, lying back with his hands behind his head, grinning at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked, shaking out her hair.

"Waiting for you. You did say we could share."

She eyed his bare chest above the sheet. "What are you wearing?"

"A touch of Hugo Boss and a smile."

"You are joking."

"About the Hugo Boss, yes."

"Castle ..."

He pouted like a little boy. "You're no fun, you know that."

"Someone has to be the adult."

"Why? I tried it once and didn't like it."

She felt a frisson of anger. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Pretend you're always immature. A child wouldn't do what you're doing to keep to keep me safe."

"Are you complimenting me?" he asked, sitting up and rested his elbows on bent knees.

"Don't get used to it." She crossed her arms. "And I'm not getting into that bed until you're properly dressed."

He sighed heavily, then lifted the sheet. "Sorry, guys," he said, and tossed it back to reveal a pair of black cotton pyjama pants. "Gotcha," he said with a smile.

She glared at him then picked up a black t-shirt lying on the dressing table chair and tossed it to him. "Idiot."

He chuckled and slipped it on. "Happy?"

"Better." She climbed into bed, pushing the sheet firmly to the mattress between them. "Just you stay on your side."

"Kate, Kate. I didn't take advantage of you when you were freezing to death in my arms."

"Well, tonight it isn't cold." She lay back and closed her eyes.

"Want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

She ignored him, pretending sleep until movement on his side of the bed ceased. She opened one eye to find him watching her. "I am armed, Castle," she pointed out.

He grinned even wider but laid down, careful not to be touching her anywhere along her length. "'Night, Kate."

"Goodnight."

Only it felt as if he hadn't kept to the bargain, at least from the weight on her waist. She lifted her head and looked down. His right arm was thrown across her, while he was snuggled onto his left side, close to her.

"Castle. Castle." There was no response, and she considered getting her gun from the bedside table and firing it right next to his ear, but decided her better judgement should prevail. Instead she reached up and jiggled his shoulder. "Rick."

His eyes opened. "Hey, beautiful," he said sleepily.

She sighed. "Forgotten my name already?"

"No." His lips curved. "Kate. Beautiful Kate. My Kate." His hand stroked her hip.

"Castle ..."

"Rick. Please, Kate, my name's Rick." He leaned forward and kissed her.

Without thinking she let her lips part, and his caress became firmer, more insistent. He moved over, closing the small distance between them, and she could feel his hardness pressing against her thigh as he slid his knee between hers.

Heat flamed through her and she reached up, one hand on his cheek, the bristles of his beard erupting through his skin and pressing into her palm. The other pushed at the bottom of his t-shirt, desperate to get to flesh. He threw the sheet away for better access, lifting her top, his fingers cupping her side even as his mouth attacked her neck, kissing and sucking, marking the hollow at the crest of her shoulder with light teeth.

She groaned, lifting her leg to rub her calf along his thigh. Then his fingertips touched the dressing under her breast. She stilled, suddenly aware of what they were doing.

"Stop," she whispered.

"What?" He was still busy at her jawline.

She pushed at him. "Castle, stop."

He lifted himself back, the disbelief obvious on his face. "Kate?"

"We can't do this."

"Kate, don't." He stared at her, aghast.

"I mean it, Castle." She pushed at him again.

He didn't move for a long heartbeat, then he was up and out of the bed. He grabbed his jeans and shoes before striding out, not even glancing at her.

Kate lay back on the pillow, waiting for her pulse to return to normal, and the guilt to subside.

* * *

><p>Rick stood at the edge of the water and threw the stone in his hand as hard and as far as he could. It arced high, then fell with a splash, frightening a group of feeding birds into flight.<p>

In all honesty he didn't know who he was more angry at – Kate or himself. He hadn't intended anything, had woken up to find her close, his arm across her, and something inside him seemed to take over. She'd responded, as passionately as him, then ... How could she? She'd wanted it as much as he did, he'd swear to it. Her hands, her mouth ... nothing was saying no, not until she told him to stop.

"Shit."

He threw another stone, this one going further and making the birds erupt into squabbling. Closing his eyes, he went down onto his heels, letting his head drop, berating himself. What kind of a monster was he to take advantage of a sick woman?

He looked down at the stones between his feet, at one the size of a silver dollar and flat on both sides. Picking it up, he turned it over and over in his hand before standing. Staring out across Quarter Lake, he held it flat, then flicked his wrist. The stone flew sideways, hitting the water and skipping, twice, three, four times before sinking beneath the surface. He found another, then another, some only lasting a couple of bounces, while one managed eight.

"Can you show me how to do that?"

He didn't turn at the sound of her voice. "I'm not a very good teacher," he said quietly. "I could never manage to get Alexis to do it."

"You could try, Castle."

"Rick!" he exploded, spinning on his heel. "My name is Rick!"

"I know." She had dressed, her hair caught back in the scrunchie again. "I know, Rick."

"Then why won't you use it?"

"I'm sorry."

"What for? Forgetting my name? Pushing me away? Or not wanting to admit to your feelings?" He took a step closer. "You do _have _feelings, don't you?"

"For hurting you."

"Detective, I'm not hurt."

"I can see it in your eyes."

"Then you're seeing wrong." He straightened his shoulders. "Disappointed, maybe. And you can't tell me you didn't want to."

"I did. I won't lie. But … I can't."

"I'd have been careful." He gestured towards her side, to the healing bullet wound.

"I don't care about that. It's just …"

"What, Kate?" Closing the distance, he could almost smell her perfume. "You tell me. Explain in words of one syllable just why you're denying how we feel about each other."

"I'm not denying anything."

He felt the blood drain from his face. "You're … what?"

"This is self-preservation." She looked down at her feet then up again. "Rick, I don't want sex – not _just_ sex," she added quickly. "I've had enough of that. My body's grateful, but my heart and mind? It's an empty pleasure."

"Kate –"

"Let me finish."

Licking his lips he nodded slightly. "Okay."

"I don't want just sex anymore. I want sex _and_ love. But I can't."

"Kate, that's crazy. I –"

"No. Rick, please, just listen." She swallowed visibly, but went on, "Everyone I care about like that, I've lost. My mother, Mike Royce, Roy … I can't do it to you too."

"So this is for _my_ sake?"

"No. Mine. And my sanity." She rubbed her hand over her eyes. "All that's been happening lately, all that's been going on, I've lost so much, and I … I don't know how to cope. I'm beginning to lose myself." She laughed, an unexpected sound but with no humour in it. "We joked about me going down the rabbit hole? I'm already gone. I'm at the 'eat me, drink me' stage already, and I don't know what I'm going to do."

He knew what it must have taken for her to admit that. "You won't lose me, Kate."

"You can't say that. Nobody can."

"I love you."

If he'd expected her to be surprised, shocked or at least bemused, she was none of the above.

"I know."

He understood. "You heard."

"Yes. But I'm not stupid. I knew before that."

"But you can't say it back."

"I just explained –"

"Kate, you can say it. I know how you feel, and it's only words."

"Only words?" She shook her head. "You're a writer and you say it's only words?"

"Of course it is." He knew he was pleading, but couldn't help it. "Say it. Please. I know you care about me, but I need to hear it."

"Don't. Please."

He half turned away, looking out across the beauty of the landscape, and not seeing even a bit of it. "I don't know what to say to you," he admitted. "If this was because of Josh, I'd stand back. I _have_ stood back, all the times I could have said something." He faced her again. "But I can't do that now. You don't love him, not with what we have, what we could have." He swallowed. "We have to try. I don't want to lose you, not again."

This time she was the one who moved closer. "Why can't we just carry on as we are? We're friends, partners … does there have to be something more?"

"Yes." He reached out, took one of her hands, rubbing his thumb across the back. "I _could_ carry on, like you want, but it's killing me inside. Each time I see you with Josh, or Demming, or Sorenson … it eats at me. And if I let it there won't be any 'me' left."

"So what are you saying?"

"I don't know," he admitted, a little ashamed but needing to be honest.

"Because if you're suggesting that I have to say 'I love you' or you're gone from my life –"

"Kate, don't you listen?" He tugged on her hand. "I told you. You won't lose me."

"If I care I will."

"That's crazy."

"You think I don't know that? But you've almost been blown up by a dirty bomb, frozen to death, shot at, cursed –"

"My choice, Kate. Nobody made me follow you. It was always and only my choice."

She gazed at him for a long time, biting the inside of her lip, and he felt as if his life was the one hanging in the balance.

"The phone's ringing," she finally said.

He realized he'd been hearing the faint sound off and on for a minute or two. "Leave it."

"It might be important."

"More than this?"

"No." She gently pulled her hand free. "But I can't deal with this at the moment. I need time."

Something shrank inside him, but he made himself smile, just a little. "Okay, Kate. I can give you that."

She nodded gratefully, then turned on her heel, striding across the gravel to the cabin.

He waited a moment, knowing nothing was resolved, that maybe he'd just made it a thousand times worse. If he had, and she couldn't accept it, he didn't know what he'd do. He couldn't leave, wouldn't go, but maybe she had it right – he might have to look at self preservation.

She was back at the door, Jordan's phone to her ear, her face pale.

"Kate?" he called, breaking into a run. "What is it?"

"It's Ryan. His car's been blown up."


	11. Chapter 11

Esposito watched the hustle and bustle of the hospital around him, but his mind was elsewhere. He'd already drunk two cups of coffee that reminded him way too much of the battery acid they used to put up with before Castle arrived with his cappuccino machine, and all he could do now was wait.

He'd been at home in his own bed for once, Lanie having to pull an all-nighter in the morgue due to a truck driver losing control of his vehicle and ploughing into an audience coming out of a theatre off-off Broadway. So far the driver was the only fatality, but she needed to know if it was drink or something else that had precipitated the accident, and it was taking a while. She told Esposito she'd catnap while she was waiting for the test results to come back, and that Esposito should go home. Not that he'd slept well at all, and it was with a rueful smile when the alarm went off that he knew he'd got way too used to waking up next to his beautiful girlfriend.

Getting up and dressed, he tidied absently as he waited for Ryan to come pick him up. It was his partner's turn, meaning one less car on the streets, and a little longer in bed for him. Still, as the clock ticked on, he began to get concerned. Ryan was usually early, enjoying beeping the horn to encourage him as well as irritate the neighbours.

He was about to consider getting annoyed when his cellphone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, he thumbed the on button.

"Ryan, where the hell –"

"Javier?" It was a woman's voice, tight with worry, emotion coming clearly across the line.

"Jenny? What is it?"

"It's Kevin. He ... oh, Javier, his car blew up and ... please, come quickly."

A bomb? Esposito felt an icy coldness wrap itself through his gut. "Where are you?"

"Following the ambulance."

"Which hospital?"

"City General."

"I'll meet you there." He hung up, grabbing his jacket and car keys, out of the apartment within moments and running down the stairs. He was parked at the rear of the building, and it was without thought that he was at the car, reaching for the door handle when he paused.

Something had tickled his senses, something telling him to wait, be careful, to _check_. He'd been a cop long enough, and a soldier before that, to trust his instincts, and in a moment he was down on the ground, chest pressing into the dirt as he looked under the car.

"Damn."

It didn't belong, attached to the gas tank, and from the shape some sort of pipebomb, but there were wires running towards the ignition, and a tiny red light at one end flickered at him.

"You okay, mister?"

He looked up, seeing a small boy clutching a skateboard staring at him. "I'm fine," Esposito said, getting up quickly. "You need to go home, right now." He steered the boy away, taking his cell from his pocket as he did so.

The bomb squad arrived quickly, but it seemed like hours, time he had to spend keeping people away from the potential damage radius. He was chafing at the bit by the time they had it under control, and finally commandeered a black and white to get him to the hospital, where he was told to wait. And wait. Thus the coffee, and a call to Beckett on the batphone.

She'd sounded as anxious as he felt. _"Call me,"_ she ordered. _"As soon as you hear anything."_

He could hear Castle in the background, wanting to know what the hell was going on, but it was to his friend and lead detective he promised, "I'll let you know as soon as I do."

He'd smiled briefly at the nurse who glared at him and pointed at the NO CELLPHONES sign, but he carried on, using his own cell to make another half a dozen calls. Still he couldn't settle, and within a minute of finishing he was up and pacing.

Finally he'd had enough. He was about to head into the emergency room when the doors opened.

"Can't get rid of me as easily as that." Kevin Ryan walked out, his arm around Jenny.

"Bro." Esposito felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Ryan smiled, looking anything but with the scrapes down one side of his face, a butterfly-stitched cut high up on his forehead, and what looked like the beginnings of a beautiful black eye.

In another world, maybe where nobody else was watching, the two partners would have hugged, just glad to see the other still alive, but in that place, at that time, they contented themselves with a meaningful nod of the head.

"You were in there long enough," Esposito said. "If I didn't know Jenny was with you I might have thought you were making out with the nurses."

"If I had been, I think there'd have been more damage that just a few bumps and bruises. And a busted wrist." Ryan held up his left arm, supported by a sling.

"You'd better believe it, mister," Jenny agreed, her eyes red as if she'd been crying.

He squeezed her gently. "I was lucky." He looked back at Esposito. "What about you? Did you check your car?"

"It's all in hand," Esposito assured him, glancing meaningfully at Jenny. "We can talk later."

"Oh. Right." Ryan looked down at his fiancée. "Honey, I have to go to work."

Jenny glared at him. "No, you're not. You heard what the doctor said. If you insist on signing yourself out, you need to go home and rest. So, you're coming home with me and I'm going to look after you."

"Sweetheart, as much as I'd like that, I have things to do."

"Kevin ..."

"And Javier will keep an eye on me." Ryan glanced at his partner. "Right?"

"Right," Esposito agreed.

He turned back to Jenny. "And I promise, if I feel worse I'll call a doctor, okay?"

"No, it's not okay!" She shook her head. "You don't have to do this!"

"Yes, I do."

She looked like she might cry again. "My mother said I was crazy, wanting to marry a police officer, did you know that? That I'd be worrying every time he walked out of the house."

"Your mother loves me," Ryan said, trying to placate her.

"That doesn't mean she didn't say it." Jenny sighed. "But I'm not going to be able to stop you, am I?"

He kissed her gently on the lips. "Not this time, no."

Jenny looked at Esposito. "Keep him out of trouble."

"I'll try."

She smiled uncertainly. "I know you care about him as much as I do."

"He'll be safe with me," Esposito promised.

"Okay." Jenny sighed.

Ryan moved her around so he could look her in the eyes. "Now, do what I told you. Go home to your parents in Flushing."

"You honestly can't think I'm in any danger, do you?" Her jaw jutted forwards strongly, stubbornly.

"Jenny. Please. For me."

She blinked hard, then nodded, just once. "Okay. Okay. For you. But you call me, every day. At least once."

"I will."

"And if I find you even within spitting distance of any more beautiful actresses, I'll break the other wrist, okay?"

"Okay." He pulled her close to him with his one good arm, and kissed her again, this time with a lot more passion.

Esposito turned away, not needing to pick up any pointers. "I'll ... uh ... be waiting outside." He strolled out into the sunshine.

Two imagination filled minutes later Ryan joined him.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Esposito adjusted his jacket. "So what happened?"

Ryan shrugged. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We got up, had breakfast. I went out to the car, got in, started the engine ... then I saw Jenny in the rearview mirror. She was holding up my cellphone – I'd forgotten it."

"Man, you are going to have to get that crazyglued to your ear, the number of times you leave it behind."

"Probably a good idea," Ryan agreed. "Anyway, she wasn't dressed, just in this pair of little babydoll pyjamas I got her for her birthday –"

"Dude, I do not need to know the details."

"Right. Point is she wasn't going to come out and hand it to me so I got out, went back to get it, we kissed, and I headed back to the car. Next thing I knew there was this big bang and I was flying through the air like Superman. Then I hit the ground." He shook his head. "I thought I was going to have to learn how to play the harp."

"You told me you were a boy soprano in the Catholic church choir."

"In confidence, Esposito. In confidence."

"Doesn't that guarantee you a free pass through the pearly gates?"

"I was kicked out for reading Playboy and smoking in the vestry."

"Reading?"

"Okay. Looking at the pictures." He removed the sling from over his shoulder, and flexed his fingers, wincing slightly.

"Should you be doing that?"

"Dude, the last time I broke my arm I almost had my cousin's eye out because I was swinging the cast around."

"How old were you?"

"Twelve."

"Just keep it out of the way."

"No problem."

"I'd better call Beckett, though, give her the good news."

"Was she worried?"

"Who?"

"Beckett."

"More ... angry that you'd been careless."

"I'll take that." Ryan looked decidedly happy, then a thought occurred to him. "Javi, how did you get here?"

"Black and white. My car's being examined by the bomb squad right now."

Ryan's good humour left him. "You too?"

"Me too. You weren't the only one who was lucky."

"I did get blown up."

"Just."

"Hey!" Ryan waved his arm.

Esposito didn't hide the slight smile. "We were _both_ lucky, bro."

"You can say that again."

"We were both –"

"That was a figure of speech." Ryan shook his head. "But what I was getting at was if we don't have a ride I could have asked Jenny to drop us off."

"No need. I got a guy to bring a pool car around. Besides, I don't think we'll be heading straight back to the precinct. We've got someone to see first."

"Hackett?"

"Hackett." Esposito tapped his pocket. "I called around – he's not turned up for work, called in sick for the first time in nearly twenty years."

"You really think he's involved."

"What do you think?"

"Same thing." Ryan looked around. "So where is the car?"

"It's somewhere in the car park."

"Great. I get blown up and have to search for my ride."

"Just be glad it doesn't come with wings."

"I am. Oh, I am."

"You in a white dress ..."

"They're called shrouds."

"I think I prefer the dress idea."

"Speak for yourself."

As the partners walked towards the parking area, bickering mildly, Esposito was already dialling on the 'bat phone'.

* * *

><p>"Thank God." Kate dropped the phone onto the sofa.<p>

Rick exhaled noisily. "I really thought –"

"Me too." She shook her head. "That was too close."

"Yes."

Kate started to pace. "It has to all be connected. "

"You really think Hackett told someone?"

"The guys think so. And I tend to agree – it's way too much of a coincidence that they go to see Hackett and the next day someone tries to blow them into the middle of next week."

"So he's on the take?"

"Could be. Ryan and Esposito will find out."

"Rysito."

"What?"

"Ryan and Esposito. Rysito. Quicker to say. Or Espyan."

Her expression could have frozen a glacier a degree more. "Anyway, they're going to ask a few hard questions." She grimaced. "I need a murder board."

"Can't think without one?" Rick teased.

"I'm used to seeing it laid out in front of me."

He didn't speak for a moment, then came to a decision. "Okay. But ... don't tell Alexis."

"Don't tell Alexis what? And why?"

"Ah." He tapped his nose, then crossed the room to a small door next to the bathroom under the stairs. Opening it he tossed a couple of canvas bags onto the floor, then lifted out a shotgun, leaning it against the wall.

"Is that loaded?" Kate asked dryly.

"No, it isn't. The shells are locked in the escritoire."

"Then why do you keep it?"

"Sentimental reasons." He backed out of the cupboard and picked up the gun. "It was a house-warming gift from Maggie."

"Really?

"More of a joke, actually. She knew I'd never use it."

Kate took it from him. "It looks expensive."

"Probably. Maggie's never stinted on gifts, and she was in the middle of her first book spending spree at the time."

"So where did you learn to shoot?" Kate asked, turning the shotgun over in her hands so the light caught the intricate engraving on the stock. "I know you can."

"One of my mother's ex-husbands. Uncle Armand. I was five, we were summering in the Hamptons, and she was livid."

"I'm not surprised."

He chuckled. "It was a .38 and I could hardly lift it. I think I just about managed to hit the target he'd set up, and he crowed about it to his buddies at the country club."

"Even though you weren't his?"

"I think he saw me as some kind of accessory, like one of his gold identity bracelets."

"One of?"

"Oh, yes. On a bad day he looked like BA Baracus from the A-Team. I sometimes wonder if Cannell knew him, used him as inspiration."

Kate laughed. "You never know."

"Anyway, then I disgraced myself."

"Oh? How?" She propped the shotgun up again. "Come on, you can't leave it there."

Rick's face took on an expression of ruefulness. "He took me hunting that fall. Against my mother's wishes, but she _was_ trying to keep her marriage together at the time."

"And?"

"He shot a cute little deer. And I threw up, all over his boots."

Kate's eyes widened in delight. "You didn't."

"I did." He shook his head. "There was so much blood. And brains. And ..." He mimed all too graphically.

"Is that what got you interested in the macabre? The machinery of death?"

"Good title for a book. The Machinery of Death."

"Castle."

"Yes. I suppose that's what started it." He shrugged. "I never could understand why a man would shoot an animal he wasn't intending to eat, just like why someone would murder. Writing allowed me to ... explore that."

"You're not lying to me, are you?" Kate asked, uncertainty sharp in her tone. "Only you did last time, that Hallowe'en."

He smiled. "It wasn't lying. It was ... fabricating with style."

"This isn't, is it?"

"No. It's the truth." He crossed his heart. "I was so glad when they got divorced, although that meant it was just my mother and me again."

"You love her really."

"Don't tell her that."

"I think she already knows. And anyway," she added, "you can't use that title. Maggie already has."

He grinned and clambered back under the stairs. "So she has. I keep forgetting you're a fan of hers as well."

"I used to read. When I had time."

"Well, you've got enough of that right now. You can borrow my Kindle if you like."

"Thanks."

"And there are always variations on that title." He thought for a moment. "The Commerce of Death."

"Sounds like an anti-war pamphlet."

"Good point. How about The Particulars of Death?"

"Better. I suppose."

He snapped his fingers. "I know. The Niceties of Death."

She nodded her head from side to side, then shrugged. "Not bad. Does that mean you're going to stop writing Nikki Heat?"

"You're not that lucky." There was a rumbling sound. "A-ha!"

"Don't tell me, you've pricked your finger on a spinning wheel."

He grinned over his shoulder. "I'm ruggedly handsome, remember? Not Sleeping Beauty."

She smiled in return, glad they were back to the banter, although the memory of the tension was still hanging around. "So what have you found?"

"This." He dragged a folding white board from the depths, stepping out with it in his arms in triumph. "I knew I hadn't tossed it."

"A murder board?"

"Your wish is my command." Kicking the stuff he'd thrown out of the cupboard back inside, he started to assemble it.

"And why exactly shouldn't I mention this to Alexis?" Kate wanted to know.

"Because I promised her I'd got rid of it." He looked a little abashed, oddly that much more attractive than his usual self-satisfied smile. "She was nine, we were on vacation, and I had a book due. She complained bitterly that I was spending all my time planning out the ending instead of being with her. Damn, but she could do the puppy dog eyes to perfection."

Kate laughed. "I doubt she's grown out of that."

"No, but now she keeps it for special occasions, otherwise the world might end." He struggled with the legs. "Plus the fact that it ate my fingers on more than one occasion."

"Do you want a hand?"

"No, no, I can do it. Ow." Finally he managed to make the white board stand under its own steam, and he turned to her in triumph. "Detective Beckett? It's all yours."

* * *

><p>'Buddy' Hackett lived in a nice area, in a nice house, surrounded by nice neighbours.<p>

"How did he manage this on a sergeant's salary?" Ryan wondered aloud, lifting his hand to rub at the grazes on his face.

"Stop that," Esposito said as they walked up the path between neat and nice flower beds. "Maybe his wife works."

"Be interesting to look into his financials."

"Yeah."

At the door Esposito knocked loudly, waiting a few heartbeats then knocking again.

"I don't think they're home."

Both men turned, seeing an elderly woman in a red felt hat watching them from the sidewalk.

"Why do you say that?" Esposito asked, taking a couple of steps towards her.

"Saw Lydia – Mrs Hackett – loading up their station wagon last night. Looked like they were going for a long vacation."

"Did you see them go?"

"No, but I heard the car. Damn thing needs a new muffler, and it woke me up about ten."

Esposito smiled. "Thanks."

"No problems." She sized him up. "You a cop too?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Ma'am?" She laughed, showing discoloured teeth. "Sonny, if I was twenty years younger ..." She went on her way, still cackling to herself.

"You think he sent his family away?" Ryan asked quietly as his partner rejoined him.

"Half a dozen people are dead because of this ... maybe he was afraid they'd be next." Esposito looked up at the house. "You go round the back, see if you can see anything."

"On it." Ryan disappeared into the bushes at the side of the building.

Esposito looked through a gap in the net curtains into the living room. It looked normal, not particularly tidy, but it certainly didn't appear as if any violence had taken place.

Then he heard Ryan's shout.

"Esposito!"

He ran, his gun already in his hand. "What?" he demanded.

Ryan, his own weapon at the ready, pointed up at the kitchen window with his damaged hand. "Look."

Esposito did as he was told. "Shit."

"Yeah."

There, drilled as neatly through the glass as if with a diamond drill, was a bullet hole. Keeping as far back as possible, he peered inside. "Shit."

"You already said that."

"I know."

"Probable cause?"

"Oh, yeah. Is it locked?"

"'Fraid so. And I can't." Ryan lifted his plaster-encased wrist.

"Fine." Esposito sighed. "Stand back." Knowing it was going to hurt, no matter how he did it, he settled himself, then kicked out. He was right, a shooting pain going up his leg, but the door sprang open.

Ryan was through first, checking out the room, then quickly making sure the others were empty. "Clear," he said, coming back in. "Is he dead?"

Esposito was down on his heels next to the body of Sergeant Hackett. Blood had pooled around his head, although most of the back of his skull was missing. His face, a hole in the centre of his forehead, had an almost surprised look.

"I'm not a doctor, but I'd say life was extinct. Recent though. Body's still warm."

"I'll call it in."

Esposito sighed. "Beckett is not going to be pleased."

* * *

><p>Hazel Fortunas hurried into her offices, barely glancing at her name on the glass door.<p>

Shelley Warner, her personal assistant with sleeked back brown hair and a sharp business suit, was immediately on her feet, a handful of message slips clutched in one hand. "Ms Fortunas. I managed to push Gordon Sherman back to this afternoon, but Felipe Santana is down in reception, waiting."

"Ten minutes, then call him up." Hazel took the slips. "Shelley, I've got something for you to do."

The young woman picked up her pad. "Yes, Ms Fortunas."

Hazel glared at the two interns working on paperwork at the rear of the office, who ducked their heads again, pretending they weren't eavesdropping. "My office." She strode into her inner sanctum, confident Shelley was following.

Sliding behind her desk she quickly flipped through her messages, not seeing anything urgent, then looked up. Shelley was, as expected, waiting.

"Yes, Ms Fortunas."

Hazel nodded. "Have you heard of Richard Castle?"

"The author? Yes. Not my sort of books, but I've heard they're popular with a certain type of people."

Hazel smiled. That's one of the reasons she'd taken Shelley on as her assistant – the young woman disliked almost everyone on the principle that she was better than them. It made her biddable, at least by someone in authority.

"Not my cup of tea either," Hazel agreed. "But I want you to do a full workup on him. Property, phone records, financials ... whatever you can get."

"Has he done something?" Shelley asked. She wasn't demurring in any way, just asking. To her, everyone got what they deserved.

"What _hasn't_ he done might be better." Hazel shook her head. "I believe his record speaks for itself."

"Of course. Anything specific?"

"I want to know where he is. He's a material witness in the murder of Detective Katherine Beckett, and he seems to have left town."

"Do you think he was involved?"

Hazel shrugged. "It's possible."

"How far back?"

"As far as you can."

"I take it this is urgent?"

"I need the workup on my desk before the end of today." Hazel didn't need to add that it was also confidential: Shelley never told anyone what she was working on, simply because she believed they were too far down on the food chain to understand.

The young woman simply nodded. She'd had assignments like this before, some of which turned into cases, while others languished in dark blue folders, her hand-written notes nestled with clippings and reports.

"Yes, Ms Fortunas." Shelley turned on her high heels and strutted out, closing the door behind her with a soft snick.

Hazel stared at nothing for a long time, looking at but not seeing all the law books in their proper place on the shelves. In her mind's ear she could hear a ticking, like a timer counting down to zero. They said a person at the epicentre of an explosion didn't know anything about it, felt no pain as their nerve endings were vapourised. She wasn't convinced, particularly as it was unlikely there was any empirical evidence of this. It was just as likely that the moment of agony went on forever, drawn out into a high-pitched scream that lasted for infinity.

She'd worked hard to get where she was, attending night school at the same time as being a full time cop, and if certain wheels had been greased for her, she felt she'd earned everything she had. And now it looked as if things might be coming apart.

Well, if it was, she wasn't going to be the only one ending in pieces. Her face taking on a hard look that too many witnesses had experienced first hand, she picked up her phone and dialled a private number.


	12. Chapter 12

_Hot air. A blast lifting her hair, taking her off her feet. Land became sky became land, rushing up to stop her progress permanently, only she sank down into it, like through warm chocolate, past worms and coffins and bones ..._

They'd had an interesting afternoon and evening, filling the murder board over and over again with variations on a theme, all mapped out like an inebriated spider's web around the single word VESTS. He'd made sandwiches while Kate went for a walk to clear her head, but when she came back neither of them had been very hungry as they continued to expound theory after theory, each one becoming more ludicrous than the one before, and all with just one thing in common – that Hackett had called someone more or less the moment Ryan and Esposito had left the Archives building.

"And it killed him," Rick had said, tapping the red marker pen on the board.

"Well, as soon as the warrant's through we can find out exactly who that was." Kate sighed, then was overtaken by a huge yawn. "Oh, sorry," she muttered, getting her jaw back under control.

"I think we both need some sleep." He glanced at the clock, the single figures on it suggesting that the late night turned into very early morning, and they were honestly not that much further forwards.

"Mmn."

"So."

"So."

"So ... you're heading on up?"

"Mmn. You're right – I am tired." Kate suited word to the deed and got to her feet. "Must be all that theorising ..."

"Yes, well, it takes it out of a person." He gave a half smile. "And all the good clean air."

"Must be." She stretched then winced, reminding herself not to do that again, and definitely not in front of him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine. I'm just trying to do without the painkillers."

"Don't," he said, tossing the marker towards the table but ignoring it when it rolled to the floor. "Josh gave them to you for a reason, and you should take them."

"I don't want to get dependent on them," she explained.

She didn't have to say she was scared because of her dad losing himself in the bottle when her mother died – she didn't have to.

"You won't," he assured her, his voice low, gentle. "I won't let you. But right now, you need them."

"What I need is some decent rest. In my own bed."

He nodded, just once. "That might not be for a while, but ... okay. Just promise you'll take one when you go up."

She was about to argue some more, but saw the look on his face. "Fine. Just tonight."

"Then you can see how you are tomorrow."

Her lips thinned slightly in exasperation. "Since when were you the reasonable one?" she asked. "I thought that was supposed to be my job?"

The smile came back. "I can be unreasonable if you want. I can play the TV really loudly, stop you from sleeping."

"You're not ..." She indicated the stairs.

"No. I don't think that would be a good idea, do you?"

"Castle ... Rick ..."

"Don't worry. I'll sleep down here." He glanced at the sofa. "I'm sure I can make it more comfy than last time. Probably put all the cushions on the floor. Pretend I'm camping out."

She gazed at him. "If you're waiting for me to tell you not to, I'm not going to."

Again that little smile. "I know. You need some space – I understand."

"It isn't that I don't ... I just can't."

"Kate. I get it. And I'll be fine." He almost believed it himself.

"What about your back?"

"Yes, well, if I need it walked on in the morning I'm sure I can persuade you to do that. Even if it doesn't ache, my masochistic side would probably enjoy it." The smile widened to something resembling a grin.

She smiled in return. "Okay. Goodnight, Rick."

"'Night, Kate."

She'd surprised him by bending over and kissing him lightly on the cheek, just a brush of her lips that burned long after she'd vanished up the stairs.

Not that he'd been able to do anything more than doze anyway, and in the end he gave up and began to read, masking his own overactive imagination with somebody else's, at least until he heard it.

Someone was making a noise. Not loud, not angry, more like a whimpering. He looked up from his book and listened.

_It was cold, and as she glanced down she realised her feet and legs were bare, and she was dressed in a hospital gown, open all down the back, exposing her spine. Still, at least it meant he hadn't seen her tattoo, wasn't going to, and she was smug as something warm dripped down her side ..._

Getting to his feet from the makeshift cushion bed, Rick padded to the bottom of the staircase. Yes, definitely louder here. And there was only one other person in the cabin.

_She was moving, although she was pretty sure she was standing still. Ahead of her were double doors, mist slipping from between them. She didn't want to go inside, but they opened as she reached them, a wall of fog falling to slither about her ankles. With it came fear, coiling in her chest, and she tried to call out, to ask for help, but the words died in her throat._

_Against her will she was through, and the relief she felt at recognising Lanie's morgue was strangled as she saw three covered gurneys, the white sheets stained red. The pathologist was standing by the first, and tweaked the cotton away, and guilt swelled inside her. Kevin Ryan, only half a face, one eye staring accusingly at her. She should have been able to stop this happening, to keep him safe. Lanie picked up a scalpel, bending forward to begin the Y-incision._

_She didn't want to see, to watch her friend become nothing but a collection of parts, and something must have heard as she moved on to the second body. The face was already uncovered, and somehow she wasn't surprised to see herself. She looked almost peaceful, sleeping and not dead, if it wasn't for the bullet hole through her forehead, dried blood rimming the edge._

_Someone was crying. Two someones, and it was with extreme reluctance that she turned to the third corpse. Thankfully she couldn't tell who it was, although brown hair, stiff with gore, poked from under the edge of the sheet. The crying intensified, and she could see two women ... no, a woman and a girl, huddled together, their red hair echoing that of the tall figure on the gurney._

_She tried to say she was sorry, that she would have done anything to stop this, but the sound of their grief was deafening, although she clearly heard Lanie tell them that they needed to make the identification. A slim brown hand reached through her to lift the sheet ..._

"Kate."

_She was shaking, her vision blurring as her body stopped being under any kind of control, and the voice repeated, even louder in her ears._

"Kate."

She opened her eyes. "Castle?"

He was there, not lying under a shroud, but sitting on the edge of the bed, the nightstand light illuminating his concerned features. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his hand on her shoulder.

"I ... yes." She swallowed then nodded. "I'm fine."

"You were dreaming."

Managing to lift herself up a little onto her elbows, she said as dismissively as possible, "A nightmare."

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." She peered up at him. "Did I wake you?"

"No. I couldn't sleep, so I was reading. Maggie's latest, as it happens."

"I didn't see her book anywhere." Anything to make things seem normal, to make the dream go away.

"Kindle," he reminded her. "A hundred thousand books at the drop of a hat. Or the press of a button in this case."

"You and your gadgets."

"Hey, anything with an on button and go faster stripes and I've got it or want one." He looked almost sheepish, then went on, "I heard you calling out."

"Did I?"

"Yes. And when I came in you were thrashing about – in fact I'm surprised you didn't pop a stitch."

A pain she'd been ignoring announced itself again and she put her hand on her chest, her eyes widening. "I think maybe I did." She lifted her fingers away, showing him the red stain.

"Okay," he said, lifting her t-shirt. "Let me see."

She stopped him, tugging down on the fabric. "Castle ... Rick ..."

"I need to see, Kate."

"Then I'll do it."

"Fine." He waited until she'd rolled the t-shirt up, modestly keeping her breasts covered. "You know, the sight of a little bare flesh isn't going to inflame me so much that I won't be able to stop myself."

She glared at him. "Just get on with it."

He shook his head, but there was just the faintest hint of a tilt to his lips. Although that died when he saw the dressing over her wound was red with blood at one end. "I'll be as gentle as I can." When she nodded he began to peel it from her skin, trying to ignore the sharp intake of breath she made. At the sight of the long line of neat, tidy stitches, almost two hand widths, he swallowed roughly, his voice tight as he said, "Josh does good work."

"When I don't ruin it," she responded, breathing shallowly. "It's going to scar."

"Battle wounds." He leaned closer. "I don't think it's too bad," he said, almost but not quite touching. "You've torn the skin a little, but I can probably rig something to keep it closed."

"The stuff Josh gave me is in the bathroom."

"Fine." He stood up, going into the small room and turning on the light.

"There's a bag, by the washbasin."

"Found it." There was the sound of running water, then he reappeared, bag in one hand, a bowl in the other. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

From the smell of the steam she could tell he'd added antiseptic to the warm water, and the tiny drops caught in the hairs on the back of his hands suggested he'd washed them too.

"I'll try not to scream," she said dryly.

He smiled briefly then bent to his task. "I used to have nightmares," he said conversationally. "Mainly when Alexis was small. Probably all parents do."

"About losing her?"

"Oh, yes. Or that she'd eat something she shouldn't. Or try and pet a bear. Or get kidnapped." He was sluicing the blood away.

"Was that ever an issue?" It stung, but not so much she was going to stop him.

"What, Alexis getting kidnapped?" He shrugged, then nodded reluctantly. "Occupational hazard, I guess. I'm rich, well known ... some might say a bad combination. Besides, when she first started school there'd been a couple of recent cases in the press, so much so I seriously considered hiring a bodyguard for her."

"I don't think she'd have put up with that, even at that tender age."

"Probably not. Not that she'd have been able to stop me." He chuckled briefly. "I even thought about moving away from the city."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I reasoned that it would be easier for anyone wanting to take her from me if we were in a quiet town, rather than the big city." He looked up. "I know, crazy."

"Hey, I'm not saying anything."

He went back to his job. "Anyway, I just made sure I was early every day to pick her up, and put up with the nightmares."

She watched him for a moment, his hair slightly mussed from his attempts at sleep, a haze of bristles on his cheeks ...

"I dreamed Ryan was dead. And me. And ... and you." She said it quickly, as if she was afraid otherwise the words would stick.

"I figured it was something like that."

"Occupational hazard."

"Probably."

"It's one of the things my therapist got me to talk about. Before. After my ... my mother."

"It was to be expected." He dried her skin then busied himself with some tiny butterfly steristrips, his fingers brushing her flesh. "Nothing to be worried about."

"I'm not worried."

"Of course not." He made sure the plasters were well stuck. "I'll take you into town in the morning, go to see Doc Warren, make sure you don't need another stitch or two."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, the question suddenly very important.

"Because I love you."

The sheer naturalness of his comment, the way he kept working as he said it, made her gasp.

He looked up into her face. "What, did you think I wouldn't say it? That it had gone away?" He shook his head. "Kate, life's too short to deny ourselves what we want. Admittedly, in my case, that's mostly meant things like top of the line laser tags and a Ferrari I hardly ever drive, but ..." His tongue flicked out, moistening his mobile lips. "I won't stop. I can't. Sometimes I wish I could, that it was just a phase, something I was going to grow out of. But I haven't, and I don't think I can. I love you."

"It's getting easier to say it," she commented, her breath catching in her lungs.

"Easier to say, yes. But somehow I get the feeling it's never going to be easy loving you, Kate. In the worst possible way."

"Worst? Should I be insulted?"

He grinned, and it was as if the sun had come out. "Probably." He pressed the new dressing into place. "There. That should hold until the morning."

"Thanks. It feels better."

"I doubt that, but at least you're not going to bleed onto my sheets."

"Oh, so that's the only reason?"

"Of course." He stood up. "Come on, take that top off. You can't wear it now."

Her naturally suspicious nature took over again. "What?"

"Your top. It's got blood on it."

"It's fine."

"No, it isn't. For a start it's unhygienic." He crossed to the chest of drawers and took out a pale blue t-shirt, soft and worn from multiple washings. "Here. Put this on."

"Rick ..."

He smiled and held it out. "Kate."

She glared at him, but he didn't back down. "Fine. Just ... don't look."

"I didn't in your bathroom."

"That was my territory."

"True." Moving back to the bed he laid the t-shirt very gently onto the sheet and patted it twice. "I won't look." He turned his back.

She waited a long moment, half convinced he was going to spin around and catch her bare breasted, but he didn't move. In the end she swept her top off as quickly as possible and balled it up, bloodied side inwards, before pulling the clean t-shirt on. She felt almost swamped in it, but oddly comforted too, as if wrapped in ... no. _Stop that, Katie_.

"Done?"

"Done."

He turned back and smiled. "Better." He picked up the discarded top. "We can try and get the blood out tomorrow, or I'll just buy you a new one."

"That won't be necessary."

"I know." He dropped it into the bowl of water then picked up the rest of the detritus, taking it all into the bathroom. Coming back, he clicked off the light behind him but didn't approach the bed. "Goodnight, Kate." He went to leave, but her voice stopped him.

"Rick ..."

He turned back. "Yes?"

She knew she was likely to hate herself for her weakness, but the dream still lingered. "Will you ... stay?"

"Do you want me to sleep in the chair?"

"No." She bit her lip but went on, "Just come to bed."

His jaw dropped comically. "Why, Detective Beckett, are you trying to seduce me?"

"No."

"Pity." Still, he walked back to the bed. "Any particular reason? Or is it just my engaging personality?"

"I just ... don't want to be alone tonight."

He lifted the sheet, smiling at the fact that the admittance seemed to have been dragged from her, and climbed in next to her. "For as long as you want," he said quietly. "Only you stick to your side."

"Oh, shut up," she murmured, moving over and resting her head against his shoulder.

He held his breath as he slipped his arm around her, but she didn't shout, didn't threaten him with her gun, didn't even bite him. Instead he felt her relax, heard her breathing even out, and in a bare minute she was asleep.

Reaching out slowly, he turned off the light, then lay with her pressed against him, staring into the darkness above, an amazed, wondrous smile playing across his lips until he too joined her in the arms of Morpheus for the remainder of the night.

* * *

><p>Ryan leaned on the wall of the elevator and glanced at his watch. Eight thirty-seven. Damn, but it was early. Although, in truth, any time would be too early for the way he was feeling. Aches had reported in all over his body, and he hadn't slept all that well, either, but at least Jenny had listened to him and gone home to her parents for a few days. If it was any longer than that and he knew it would take a lot of arguing to make her stay there.<p>

He sighed. What he wouldn't give for an easy triple homicide around about now.

The doors opened and he straightened up, stepping out into an amount of hustle and bustle that the precinct hadn't seen for over a year. "Wow," he mouthed.

"Should you be here, Detective?" Lt Gabrielle Cleaves had managed to materialise at his elbow. "You look like something my cat used to occasionally bring into the house when I was small. Well, bits of something, anyway."

The facial bruises had come out more fully overnight, and the black eye, while not actually impeding his vision, was impressive. "Thanks."

She smiled at his dry tone. "You were blown up – it's allowed if you want to take a couple of days off."

"I'd rather keep myself busy," Ryan said firmly.

"You're not needed."

He watched a man in a dark suit cross in front of them from the bull pen into the lounge. "The Feds?"

"Yeah." They both stared through the glass into the 'war room'. "They were already here when I arrived this morning," she added. "God knows what time they set up."

The elevator doors opened behind them.

"Wow."

Ryan half turned to look at his partner, who had dropped him off then parked the car. "I just said that."

"Feds?"

"Uh-huh."

Gabrielle gazed at them. "You know why, don't you?"

"Us?" Ryan managed, despite the beaten-up nature of his face, to look innocent.

"You."

"Probably not much more than you, ma'am," Esposito said, trying his Latin charm.

She poked him in the chest with a sharp forefinger. "You call me ma'am again and Ryan won't be the only one with bruises."

"No, Lieutenant."

She shook her head. "Look, guys. I might only be caretaking, and any minute now the new Captain is going to walk in and I'll be out back to the 15th. But I want to help."

The partners glanced at each other, a whole library of unspoken words flowing between them, but it was Esposito who said, "All we know is that Hackett was killed with the same gun that shot Beckett."

Gabrielle's eyebrow lifted, ever so slightly. "How did you –"

"We ... uh ... hung around ballistics yesterday," Ryan admitted.

"Had to do something," Esposito added. "Since we're not on the case."

"Hmmn." She obviously didn't believe them. "Anyway, it's nothing to do with me anymore. I'm not high enough up the food chain to be in charge, so whatever happens next is out of my purview." She smiled, mischief in her eyes. "Although I get the feeling you're not exactly flavour of the month either."

"Oh?"

She nodded towards the stairs.

A familiar figure in high heels had appeared framed in the light. "You two. In here. Now." Jordan Shaw hooked a finger and strode into the break room.

"Think we're in for a spanking?" Ryan asked quietly.

"What do you care?" his partner countered, indicating the bruises and cast. "You've got a 'get out of jail free' card."

Gabrielle grinned. "Better get in there," she advised. "Somehow I don't think she's going to enjoy waiting."


	13. Chapter 13

"Would you like to explain to me exactly what's going on?" Jordan Shaw demanded the instant the break room door was closed behind the partners.

Elegant. Yeah, Castle had been right, Esposito decided, even when she was as mad as she appeared to be right now. Still, he smiled and said, "I have no idea what you mean."

"No idea."

"Coffee?" Ryan offered, heading towards the espresso machine.

"No. Thank you." Jordan's gaze hadn't left Esposito's. "So it was entirely by _accident_ that you both turn up at the NYPD archives and have a fairly lengthy conversation with Sergeant Charles Hackett, who just _happens_ to turn up dead the very next morning, _coincidentally_ at the same time as Ryan's car is blown up?" The italics were almost burning his ears – she might as well have done air quotes.

Esposito was impressed. She hadn't repeated herself, and he wondered if she read the Thesaurus for fun. "What are the odds?" he asked, nodding.

"Exceptionally high. Particularly with the ballistics report on the rifle. Which you apparently already know about."

He shrugged. "I have contacts. We all do – we're cops." He hooked his thumbs into his pants waistband. "So Lieutenant Cleaves is right. You're here because it's the same gun that shot Beckett."

"Same gun, therefore same killer." She glanced at Ryan who was busy trying to work the coffee machine with only one properly functioning hand.

"He knows," Esposito admitted on a sigh.

Jordan's lips tightened. "You had to tell him."

"He's my partner."

"And I thought I made it plain that if too many people knew it would put her in greater danger," Jordan said, her voice ice cold. "I thought I made it absolutely clear."

"He's my partner," Esposito repeated. "We're closer than brothers. He knew something wasn't right, and the Irish terrier in him was going to worry at it until he found out, so better to bring him in now, so he didn't give the game away."

"I am here, you know," Ryan said mildly, managing to catch a cup before it slid from his fingers, but they ignored him.

"And your girlfriends? Are you planning on telling them too?" Jordan glared. "I could arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation."

"Nobody else," Esposito promised. "Just the family."

Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn't know the connotations of those words. "If I find out –"

Ryan had given up on coffee. "We're going to get this guy," he said quietly. "Beckett still being alive ... that's just the icing on the cake."

"Hmmn."

"Although I'm kind of surprised you're here officially," Esposito added.

"Two police officers from different precincts gunned down with the same sniper rifle, one of their captains also dead, car bombs ..." Jordan lifted her head slightly. "We were called in _officially _because this investigation has to be whiter than white."

They understood. The way this was going, whoever was ultimately behind it all had been responsible for at least six actual or attempted murders that she knew about, and more that she didn't, and with the kind of power he was wielding he might just have the clout – and the balls – to get it swept back under the carpet.

"Anything we can do to help," Ryan said, waving his cast at her.

"You should be in the hospital," Jordan responded, taking note of his bruises and black eye and speaking more kindly.

"Hey, I'm fine."

"I'm sure that isn't the case, but then I've not found Beckett's colleagues ever take the easy way." She shook her head. "And how you can help is to tell me the truth."

"We have."

"Then why were you at the Archives?"

"Looking up old case files," Esposito said, perching on the edge of the table, his hands loose in his lap. "To see if there was any connection between the killings."

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "And Hackett?"

"Maybe somebody thought he'd told us something," Ryan suggested, picking up a spoon and using it to try and scratch under his cast.

"You're suggesting they – whoever _they_ are – were watching him? Or you?"

"Could be," Esposito said, taking the spoon from his partner and glaring at him. "Or it could be he contacted someone else, and they decided to take him out."

"So that was why you requested his phone records."

The Latino detective put on his very best smile. "Exactly."

"It doesn't help." Jordan pursed her lips. "Hackett made a call, probably more or less the same moment you left the building, but it was to a disposable phone. We're trying to track who sold it, but ..." She left the phrase hanging.

Both men knew how that felt. It would be an almost impossible task to trace the owner, meaning that line of enquiry was closed before it could begin.

"Damn," Ryan said quietly.

"So it's up to you," Jordan went on.

"Us?"

"To tell me the real reason you were at the Archives."

"Like I said, just checking out a few things," Esposito explained.

"And Bob Armen?"

The partners didn't look at each other, very pointedly.

"Who?"

"You're not that good." Jordan crossed her arms. "And I'm not that stupid. Ever since Roy Montgomery was killed I've been looking into things. Then when someone shot Kate Beckett ..." She shook her head slightly. "Bob Armen was a Federal Agent, a good one, by all accounts. He was shot by Joe Pulgatti, who just happens to get Johanna Beckett interested in his case, who just happens to turn up dead in exactly the same alleyway where he was killed. I don't like those kinds of coincidences."

"They happen," Ryan put in.

"Not in my world. Did you really think I wasn't going to join the dots?"

"No idea what you're talking about." Esposito was as solid in his denial as she was in her assumptions.

"Me neither." Ryan was trying the innocent look again.

"Fine." She exhaled heavily. "I can't do my job until I have all the facts, and I will get them, believe me. Something ties all this together. At the moment I can see all the ends, but there's something in the middle, the MacGuffin, and I need to know what it is. I was just suggesting it might be better if you told me rather than me having to do the digging. Less embarrassing for you." She straightened her jacket. "Think about it," she added before striding out, her heels clicking on the floor.

"Bro, we have to tell her," Ryan murmured. "At least about the ... you-know-what."

"Not up to us."

"Beckett?"

"Beckett."

* * *

><p>She woke up alone. Again. Although the sheets next to her suggested the other side of the bed had been occupied until recently. He'd probably got up early on purpose, she surmised, to avoid a repeat of the day before. She was surprised to find herself disappointed.<p>

"Katie, behave," she said quietly, then stretched. Hmmn, Castle's ministrations seemed to be holding, and although it ached, the pain was duller than before. Maybe she was healing after all.

The day seemed well and truly begun, and she glanced at the clock. 09:03. She smiled – it was rare for her to still be in bed at 8 am, let alone an hour later, so she must have needed the sleep. Or perhaps the company.

Someone was singing, she realised, murdering a show tune, at least from what she could hear. And it was getting closer.

The door opened.

"Ah, you're awake." Rick grinned at her above the tray he was carrying.

"I could hardly sleep with the racket you were making." She struggled upright, rearranging the pillows behind her. "Breakfast in bed?"

"I thought you'd like it," he said, standing back. "But since you were so disparaging about my singing voice ..."

Her stomach rumbled. "Come on," she said, gesturing with one hand. "I'm starving."

He laughed and hurried to the bed, sitting down and placing the tray between them. Two plates were heaped with scrambled eggs, bacon on the side, toast, coffee ... everything a person needed to get them started for the day.

"Here," he said, holding out a knife and fork.

She licked her lips. "Thanks."

They ate, Rick asking if she'd slept better, smiling at her affirmative answer, then chatting about how the weather man on the radio had said there was a front on the way, and the good weather they'd enjoyed might break soon, and Kate found herself beginning to relax. The tension of the last twenty-four hours seemed to have dissipated, but she didn't know if it was because of the night they'd just spent wrapped up together, or if she was simply getting immune to it. The tension, of course, not sleeping with Castle.

They were finishing the last of the toast when a trilling interrupted them.

"My phone." Rick seemed surprised, getting up and fishing it from the pocket of the jacket he'd worn when he drove them up to the cabin. "I thought I'd switched it off."

"You'd better," Kate said warningly, sharper than she intended. "You know it can be tracked."

"They don't know you're alive."

"They went after Ryan and Esposito."

"Point taken. But I'd better ..." He thumbed the answer switch, turning his back on her exasperated expression. "Castle."

"_Yo, bro. It's Ramone here."_

"Ramone. How's it hanging?"

"_Good. And don't try the street talk with me. You know you ain't no good at it."_

Rick had to smile. Neither, really, was Ramone. The tall, dark streak of nothing was the son of two highly qualified research doctors who had decided they'd fulfilled their biological imperative with the birth of their only child and then happily gone back to their test-tubes and Petrie dishes, leaving Ramone in the care of a succession of nurses and nannies. Ramone wasn't even his real name – and woe betide anyone who called him _Ronald_ in his hearing. What Ramone _was_, though, was a computer hacker of the highest regard, courtesy of all of the top quality gear his parents bought him when he asked, fearing he might make them feel guilty if they didn't.

"To what do I owe this dubious honour, Ramone?" Rick asked.

"_I thought you'd want to know, someone's looking into you."_

"Into me?" He turned surprised eyes on Kate, who was watching him, hearing only one side of the conversation.

"_Yeah. Couple of times this a.m. I've caught a whiff of someone rooting about, gathering info on you."_

"You watch out for that sort of thing?"

"_Hell, yeah. For my friends, you know? Got me a sweet little program I run, just in case I can help out a brother, you know?"_

"And what are they looking for, can you tell?"

Kate had moved to the edge of the bed, ready to get up, but he waved her to stay put as he pressed the speaker button and sat down next to her again.

"_Everything and anything_," Ramone's voice said, echoing slightly. _"Financials, property, juvie records ... you name it this person's searching it."_

"That should all be confidential," Rick pointed out.

Ramone laughed. _"Hell, you know by now that ain't the case. If it's on a computer somewhere, someone can find it."_

Rick felt a chill run down his spine, his eyes on Kate's. "Just me? Or anyone else as well as me, can you tell?"

"_Just you, least at the mo. Why, who else would it be?"_

"No-one. Family. You know." Rick took a deep breath. "Can you find out who's doing this?"

"_If you want. Might take me a while, depending on how clean they are, but if they're leaving prints I can track 'em. You want me to call you back?"_

"No," Rick said quickly. "I ... this phone's running out of juice, and I don't have the charger with me. I'll call you."

Ramone didn't sound like he cared. _"Sure, bro. You know the number. Better give me an hour."_

"Thanks, Ramone."

"_Hey, no prob. Just paying you back."_ The line went dead.

"I don't like the sound of that," Kate said, her lips pursed.

"Neither do I." Rick switched the cellphone off, and for good measure removed the battery, tossing them both onto the armchair.

"Who is Ramone?"

"You remember the IT hacker in Storm Season?"

"Rodney Malone?"

He smiled. "Of course you do. Anyway, Ramone was my research guy."

"So he does that for a living?"

"Of course not." Rick waved his hand. "It's more of a hobby."

"It's illegal."

"Really?" She narrowed her eyes at him, making him smile, but it faded as he considered what Ramone had said. "The thing is, he's good at what he does, for whatever reason. If he says someone's been checking up on me, then someone has."

Kate could feel the hairs on the back of her neck trying to stand. "What about this place? If they're after you too –"

"There's no reason to think that, Kate. Maybe it's an obsessed fan, trying to find out where I live so they can stalk me."

"And that would be preferable?"

"At the moment, hell, yes." He put his hand on hers. "Before we start checking over our shoulders let's wait and see what Ramone comes up with, okay? He'll find out who it is."

She looked unconvinced. "I've not stopped looking over mine."

"I know. But there's no point in worrying until we know."

"I suppose." Still, her eyes flickered to the bedside table where her service pistol was currently residing.

"Look, if you want I can take us to a hotel someplace. But I used up the last of my cash when we went shopping, so I'd have to use my credit cards, and in all honesty we're probably better staying put, at least for –"

Another phone ringing some distance away stopped him, and it took a moment for him to realise it was the 'bat-phone'.

"Maybe it's Jordan," Kate said quietly.

"Better go see." Rick got to his feet, hurrying downstairs. The phone was lying on the table, and in one smooth movement he picked it up. "Hello?"

"_It's me."_ Esposito's voice. _"I need to speak to Beckett."_

* * *

><p>Chris Chan was small, dapper, and quite possibly one of the most gifted bomb disposal experts the fair city of New York had ever seen. His smooth face and slight stature took at least ten years off his age, but he'd defused more devices than, as he put it, "you've had hot sex". That, and the fact that he was a martial arts expert, dissuaded most people from using the hated nick-name of <em>Charlie<em>.

Right now he was standing in the captain's office facing Gabrielle Cleaves, his hands in fists on his slim hips. Jordan Shaw was silhouetted against the window, but it was Gabrielle who, seeing Ryan and Esposito lurking outside the door, waved the partners inside.

"... and I don't take kindly to having a Fed peering over my shoulder while I'm working," Chan was complaining. "Anyone'd think I didn't know what I was doing."

"Nobody thinks that," Gabrielle said soothingly. "And I'm sure Agent Shaw's man was only there was a double check, and to pick up a few tips."

"Well, it didn't feel like it."

"It was either that or take everything back to the FBI lab," Jordan put in.

Chan drew himself up to his full height. "I'm perfectly capable of –"

"I know," Gabrielle placated again. "So what did you find out? About the bombs?"

The mere mention of his _raison d'etre_ seemed to calm him, and he let his hands fall to his side. "From the fragments of the detonated device, and the remaining intact one, it's clear they were both of the same type, an interesting variation on the pipe bomb wired into the ignition."

Ryan felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he clearly recalled turning the key. "Then why aren't I dead?"

"Because that's the variation. There's a delay built in, a simple component that takes a few seconds to burn out before the circuit completes."

"So because I got out to get my phone ..." Ryan began.

"It's the only reason we're not picking you up with a sponge," Chan finished.

"Anything to indicate who the bomb maker was?" Esposito wanted to know.

Chan shrugged. "You can pretty much get the details off the internet. Find me a set of tools and I could tell you if they were the ones used, but the basic bomb was just that – basic."

"And the delay?"

"Probably to make sure you're rolling, that gas is flowing at the time ... makes a bigger bang."

"Nice." Ryan shuddered.

Jordan had seen something else, though. "That's not everything, is it?"

Chan took a deep breath, expelling it through his lips in a silent whistle. "No, it's not." He looked at each of them. "Thing is, that delay is something more ... interesting. It struck a chord, and I did a bit of research. It was the signature of a bomber by the name of Zachariah Gray." He sounded almost appreciative.

Gabrielle Cleaves was reaching for the phone. "We'll pick him up, have him in the interview room in –"

"Not unless you want to hold a séance," Chan interrupted.

"He's dead?"

"About a year ago. He ... ah ..."

"Blew himself up?" Jordan finished.

"Occupational hazard. But he was prolific. Could have been some old stock."

"Was his delay on the internet too?"

Chan became more serious. "No. That's what's worrying. Zac was very careful not to let his designs out, so it had to be someone who knew him."

Jordan stood straight. "I'll get my guys onto it, see if we can't pick up some names." She strode out, purpose in her step.

"Thanks, Chris." Gabrielle hitched her thumbs into her waistband.

"No probs," the bomb expert said. "If you like I can do a little research of my own."

"Sure. Just ... don't tread on too many Federal toes, okay?"

"Okay." Chan grinned and nodded, following Jordan out of the office, but turning towards the elevator.

Gabrielle looked at the remaining two men, her eyebrows raised. "Well?"

"Well ... what?" Ryan asked, radiating innocence.

She sighed heavily. "Go. Before I decide to arrest you myself."

The partners hurried out before she could change her mind. Jordan was waiting for them, her arms crossed, blocking the way into the war room. "I take it you made your phone call."

"We did," Esposito said, as calm and stoical as ever.

"And? Or do I have to guess?"

The partners exchanged a glance, then Ryan said, "What do you know about bulletproof vests?"


	14. Chapter 14

They'd told her some, but not all, and she knew it.

Jordan gazed at the partners. "So Montgomery came across the rumours about the vests when he was poking through the Archives for fun, and decided to do a little extra curricular homework of his own?" she asked dryly.

Ryan nodded. "Exactly."

It was what they'd agreed, what Beckett (after a muted conversation with Castle – hand over the mouthpiece, probably) said was okay to pass on. "Keep it vague," she'd said. "Enough truth to make it seem real, but the rest stays inside the family."

"And if she asks how we know what the captain was working on?" Esposito had asked.

"Tell her he wrote to Castle for insurance when we found out about Lockwood, but he didn't open it until we got here." That, at least, was true.

"She's going to know we're keeping something back," he'd pointed out. "She's not stupid."

"I know. And you're right, she's going to know, but if we don't tell her she'll just have to work around it."

Jordan had more than lived up to the expectations, and her glare, as well as her questions, was pointed. "Why was Montgomery in the Archives at all?"

"We're not sure," Esposito said. "We _think_ he'd been looking into Beckett's mother's murder, trying to help after Coonan was killed."

"Right." She didn't look like she believed a word. "And he gets lucky."

"Hey, someone has to," Ryan said. "Law of averages."

"Well, the law of averages says I should win the Lottery too, but I don't have the several lifetimes to wait. Or for you to trust me."

"We do."

"So you're suggesting the person behind the murder had Montgomery killed to keep him from getting closer, tries the same with Beckett, you two ..."

Esposito was impressed. She hadn't raised her voice, but Jordan Shaw made it clear she could take them both apart if necessary to find the truth, probably with one hand tied behind her back, grinding them up to sieve the honesty out of their remains. "Whoever's behind it all is powerful," he said. "If this came out, he could lose everything. Including his life."

Jordan's laser glare turned on him, but after a moment she said, "Okay." She had obviously made the decision to take the information at face value, at least for the time being. "We need to investigate the vests angle and corroborate your information." She turned into the war room. "Nash, I've got a job for you."

Agent Franklin Nash, slim, blonde and almost pretty for a twenty seven year old man, looked up eagerly. "I'm all ears."

* * *

><p>Doctor Warren had clucked and made faces at the healing wound in Kate's side, asking questions that pretty much went unanswered, but agreed to delicately repair the torn stitches.<p>

"Better to be safe than sorry," he said, tying a knot. "What Richard did was passable, but he's a better author than a doctor, although that's not saying much."

Rick, sitting the other side of the drawn curtain, bristled slightly but decided not to comment.

The doctor went on, "But you need to take it easy, young lady. By rights you should be in a hospital."

"I have too much to do." Kate was trying to breathe as shallowly as possible.

"And I imagine you're willing yourself better, as well." Doctor Warren stopped what he was doing and leaned down to peer into her face. He shook his head, his grey curls vibrating around his ancient, cherubic face. "And you're not resting enough, are you?"

"I'm doing fine."

He sighed. "I sometimes wonder if I'm talking to myself. I know my mouth is moving, but perhaps the words aren't actually coming out." He sighed again, much more dramatically, then went back to his task, muttering about how he couldn't wait to retire and go fishing every day. At least he didn't have to worry about them listening.

Fifteen minutes later, sore but with a new bottle of painkillers she was determined not to open in her pocket, Kate walked out into the increasingly heavy-aired day. "He's a real character," she commented. "And familiar, like Ramone."

"He ... uh ... might have turned up in _A Skull at Springtime_," Rick admitted, joining her on the sidewalk and feeling a slight sweat break out on his top lip. The fresh breeze they'd enjoyed earlier in the morning had died away, leaving the atmosphere stuffy and him with a burgeoning headache. "And don't take a word of what he says as gospel. He could have retired ten years ago if he wanted."

"Having too much fun?" She touched the new waterproof dressing across the wound in her side and winced theatrically.

He had to laugh. "Hey, you got off easy."

"Do you put everyone you meet into one of your books?" she asked, her lips curving slightly.

"I'm a writer," he said, as if that answered everything. "I take note of details."

"And did you notice _them_?" She nodded towards the thick black clouds gathering on the horizon.

"We've got time for lunch."

"Are you sure?" Kate looked up at the haze-filled sky, the sunlight an odd, dirty yellow colour. "Because it looks to me as if it's about to p –"

"I know how the weather works in this place," he assured her, putting his hand in the small of her back and directing her towards the road. "And another place just around the corner that does the most incredible things with the humble pizza."

"I had breakfast."

"That was hours ago." He grinned. "Come on, humour me. Or I'll take you back inside and get the doc to tell you all about his fishing adventures."

A brief flash threw up a memory of his main character in _A Skull at Springtime_ being tempted to kill the old doctor when he got going on his reminiscences, and Kate had to smile. "Fine. But the rate you're trying to feed me up, I'm going to be as big as a house by the time we get back to the city."

"All the more of you to love." He dodged a Chrysler and her pinching fingers and crossed the street.

* * *

><p>He'd been true to his word, and the lunch he'd bought meant she felt pleasantly full as he drove them back to the cabin, but her own predictions also came true as the sky darkened and he had to put the headlights on to negotiate the track. As he turned off the engine the first of the rain drops exploded on the windscreen into a fine spray, and within thirty seconds it was like a tap dancer going for a world record on the roof of the car.<p>

"It'll clear the air," Rick said, listening to the cacophony.

"We're going to get wet."

"I can always see if I can find an umbrella. I think there's one under the stairs."

"No," she said, peering out. "I'll brave it. It'll feel nice."

"Sure." He smiled, and there was a pause.

"You're imagining this t-shirt wet, aren't you?" she asked, not even looking at him.

His eyebrows almost merged into his hair. "Who, me?"

She turned in her seat and poked him with a solid forefinger. "You."

"You do realise you're leaving bruises, don't you?" he pointed out, rubbing at the spot.

"Good. And that was nothing. Try getting shot."

"If you don't mind, I'd rather not." He managed to look hopeful. "Or you could kiss it better?"

"Maybe later."

If he'd had a tail he'd have been wagging it. As it was, he got out of the car and ran around to the passenger side, opening the door. "Can I have that in writing?"

She shook her head and climbed out, feeling the rain pummelling into her exposed skin. "Come on," she said, stepping carefully across slick wet stones to the gravel path. "I need a coffee. And a towel."

They ran for the cabin, and as they stepped dripping into the darkened interior he was surprised to hear her laughing.

"You okay?" he asked, reaching for the light switch and flooding the room with illumination.

She nodded, water dripping from her hair onto the wooden floor. "I just ... I always liked walking in the rain."

"I find it gets places I don't want it to end up," Rick admitted, feeling something making its way down inside the back of his pants. "You go and dry off, I'll put on the coffee to ... um ... warm you up." His eyes drifted chestwards, then flicked resolutely back to her face.

She glanced down at the evidence that, yes, her t-shirt did go transparent in the rain, and also that, yes, from the evidence presented somewhat pointedly it was perhaps a little chilly. Tempted to cross her arms but deciding to brazen it out, she smiled sweetly. "Great," she said, heading for the stairs and sashaying up.

Sashaying. Great word. He smiled as he headed for the small kitchen, contemplating variations on a theme. Strut. Swagger. And his personal favourite – flounce. Although he couldn't imagine Kate flouncing, unless it was in a full length dress with petticoats underneath. And maybe a black corset, with little red bows.

The coffee safely on, he wandered back into the main room, rubbing his hand through his own wet hair. He'd need to change himself before long, but for now he'd give Kate some space. He looked out at the rain, the afternoon seeming more like evening, and caught sight of his reflection in the window, and wondered at the calmness of his expression.

He knew someone had tried to kill Kate – damn, he knew it all too well – and that if they knew they hadn't succeeded they'd try again. But right now she was alive, they were working towards solving her mother's murder, and he'd managed to tell her how he felt. That, over and above everything else, seemed to have taken the weight of the world off his shoulders.

His alter ego smiled.

"Here."

Her reflection over his shoulder.

He turned, took the towel Kate was holding out. "Thanks."

"Can't have you catching pneumonia," she said, crossing her arms over her clean, dry t-shirt. "I'm not the best nurse in the world."

"Oh, I think your bedside manner could be worth it." He began to towel his hair.

"No." She shook her head, but half-smiled. "I'm the worst. I have no sympathy."

"I don't believe it." He grinned. "Coffee'll be ready soon."

"Good." She walked over to the improvised murder board, staring at the web of lines and notes. "I could do with it."

Some of his inner calm evaporated, but he kept it inside. Wrapping the towel around his neck and holding onto each end, he nodded, still smiling. "Sure." He turned back to the kitchen, but his gaze fell on the phone Jordan Shaw had provided. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace, slicing time into manageable portions. It hadn't been that long, but then Ramone was nothing if not persistent.

He picked it up, dialling from memory, surprised when the other end was picked up almost immediately.

"_Yo."_

"Ramone, it's me."

"_Rick, man. What've you got yourself involved in?"_ The young man sounded anxious, concerned.

"Involved?" Rick glanced at Kate, who'd turned to stare at him. "Uh ... nothing much lately. Why?" He flicked the speaker button and Ramone's voice echoed from the tiny speaker.

"_Because I'm good, and a hell of a lot better than the person coming after you. It didn't take much to sort out the trace, considering they were into everything, but ... Rick, you been keeping things from me?"_

"Ramone, shut up and tell me who it is."

"_How can I –"_

"Ronald."

"_Man, that ain't necessary." _He sounded aggrieved. _"I'm doing you a favour, bro."_

Rick took a deep breath, his eyes on Kate's. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry, Ramone. But it's important."

"_Yeah. Yeah, I think it probably is. Rick, they've been deep, going through your whole life, where your money is, what you own, but it's been ... indiscriminate. As if they don't know what they're looking for. And they ain't changing anything, just looking." _Ramone was obviously deeply surprised at their restraint. _"But I backtracked, found the server they were working from, managed to figure out the terminal."_

"And?"

"_That's what I mean, bro. Wondering what you've done to get them interested in you."_

Rick could feel the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Who, Ramone?"

"_Hazel Fortunas, Assistant District Attorney."_

* * *

><p>"They look busy."<p>

"As long as they come up with something."

"Still feel guilty?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Me too." Ryan sighed. "Think we can keep ... you know who ... out of it?"

"We have to, bro," Esposito said, shaking his head. "She'll shoot us otherwise."

They were lurking outside the war room, sustaining themselves with coffee from the machine Castle had bought what seemed like years before. Although technically ...

"Hey, where do you suppose Avery is?" Ryan asked, changing the subject and talking of the agent who had assisted when they'd worked with the FBI before, when a serial killer has almost succeeded in blowing Beckett up. "I thought he and Special Agent Shaw were joined at the hip."

"He was promoted," Jordan said, very close to his ear and making him jump. "He's got his own team out of Los Angeles."

"Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?" Ryan complained, holding his chest.

"You should be on sick leave," she pointed out.

"I'm not sure that gives you the right to put me back in the hospital."

Jordan smiled slightly, then turned on her heel as Nash called from inside the war room.

"Boss. I've found something."

Jordan rolled her eyes but hurried to her subordinate's side, the partners barely a step behind her. "Not boss. Agent Shaw. Ma'am, if you must."

Franklin Nash nodded. "Yes, ma'am, but you'll want to see this."

"Go on," Jordan ordered.

Nash turned back to his computer screen. "I've managed to find the company that developed the vests – they were called Bromfield International, trading under the name of Paragon Safety Gear."

"_Were_?" Ryan asked, jumping on the word.

The young man shrugged awkwardly. "They stopped dealing early in 1991."

"They went to the wall?"

"No. Just ... stopped. Factory, offices, everything was sold off. I can't find any trace of them beyond March of that year."

"Damn." Ryan had been hoping for more.

"I doubt that's everything," Jordan said, moving closer.

"No, ma'am." Nash was all eagerness, putting the partners somehow in mind of Castle wagging his tail around Beckett. "I couldn't move forward, so I moved backwards. Bromfield International was owned by a number of dummy companies and corporations, oscillating between here and the Caymans, with the occasionally foray into Europe, but I'm good." He grinned without thinking. "Very good."

"I'll buy you a bone later," Jordan promised. "Who?"

"Noah Goodman."

Her eyes lit up. "As in Goodman Enterprises."

"As in."

Esposito stirred. "I know that name."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised." Jordan nodded at Nash, who played an arpeggio over the computer keys and brought up a series of glowing photos on the smart wall showing a man in his mid to late fifties, silver-haired, still handsome in a Clooney sort of way. "Noah Goodman. Married – and divorced – four times. Conservative estimate of his personal fortune is close to the hundred million."

"At least," Nash put in. "And his companies are worth a hell of a lot more."

"Is that even possible in this day and age?" Ryan asked. "My savings aren't just waving, they're drowning."

"It is if you're in bed with the wrong type of people," Jordan explained.

"He's dirty?" This from Esposito.

"As the driven slush. Not that we've been able to prove anything. The man's like Teflon." Jordan couldn't have sounded much more disgusted.

Ryan and Esposito exchanged looks. Someone powerful. With money enough to hire hitmen like Coonan and Lockwood.

"Anything else?" Jordan went on to Nash.

"Yes." He became animated again. "I cross-referenced the names you gave me – Colby, Monteith and Nunez. There was nothing on the first two, beyond the official reports into their deaths, with no mention of the vests. Olivia Nunez, on the other hand ..."

"If you're trying to create dramatic tension I can have you back in Quantico teaching recruits how to turn on their computers by tomorrow," Jordan threatened.

Nash blushed, just a little, then went on quickly, "There was a series of payments made to her from an account ostensibly from an insurance company, but the links were fake, and the insurance company has no records relating to it. After the last one she gave up her case against the city."

_Made to drop the case._ Both Ryan and Esposito were remembering Montgomery's hand-scrawled note.

"She was paid off," the Irish detective said quietly.

Jordan evidently agreed. "We need to talk to her."

"Not possible," Nash said.

"Why not?"

"She was killed in July 1999. Stabbed in a mugging."

There was a sudden silence, then Jordan said, "Okay, that's just one coincidence too many."

"Do you think Coonan killed her too?" Esposito asked.

"Maybe. We'll probably never know for sure, not unless we can get Goodman to talk, but ..." She shook her head. "Maybe she got greedy, had figured out who paid her off ..."

"Blackmail."

"Could be."

"Javier." Ryan had stepped up to the wall and had been manipulating the images of Goodman, and now he was standing so still it was like he'd been flash frozen. "Look."

Esposito joined him, his eyes on the one photo his partner had pulled larger. "Shit."

"What?" Jordan demanded.

Instead of answering Ryan asked a question of his own. "When were these taken?"

Nash looked at Jordan, who nodded. "The ... ah ... surveillance shots were from three weeks ago. We keep an eye on ... why?"

Esposito tapped the wall, his finger leaving slight marks by the woman standing very close to Goodman. "Because we know her. That's Hazel Fortunas."


	15. Chapter 15

In the cabin by Quarter Lake, safe from the downpour and occasional thunder outside, Kate and Rick were blissfully unaware of the developments back in the city. Well, perhaps blissful wasn't quite the word for it. After the call to Ramone neither of them was feeling in the mood for coffee.

"Why would Hazel Fortunas be interested in me?" Rick asked, dropping the wet towel he'd used to dry off the worst of the rain onto the sofa. If he believed the goosebumps down his spine, someone was walking over his grave and he shivered, hoping it wasn't a premonition. To make light of it he added, "Over and above my normal charm, ruggedly handsome looks and winning personality, of course."

Without conscious thought Kate picked up the towel before it could do any damage, folding it and hanging it over the back of the dining chair before saying, "Hazel was at the funeral. _My _funeral."

"She was?" Rick couldn't remember, wasn't even sure he could pick the woman out of a line-up – besides, he'd not exactly been taking anything in, seeing that he had been swamped in a cloak of grief and guilt.

"I saw her," Kate said, reminding him that she'd attended as well, albeit in disguise. "She was at Roy's, too."

Rick shrugged, exhaling heavily. "There were a lot of people there, and I suppose as ADA she felt she should be. Still ..." He crossed to the board and wrote her name to one side of the web of intrigue.

"You think she was involved?" Kate couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But you know what I think of coincidences. Why should she be looking into me now of all times?"

"Maybe she thinks you're involved in my death."

His jaw dropped. "What?"

"It's a possibility. You've been at my heels for a long time, observing me, interfering in my life ..." The affronted expression on his face almost made her smile. "Maybe she thinks you had enough, and wanted to make a final, clean break. Besides, I've been a cop long enough to know that coincidences do happen."

"Well, not in the books I write."

"No?"

"Okay, maybe," he allowed. "But not this much." He tapped the murder board. "And it's not her case. Then or now."

"Maybe she was just being thorough." Kate sat down, avoiding the slight damp area. "Doing her job."

He stared at her. "Kate, why are you defending her?"

"I'm not," she insisted. "I'm just saying we can't go and arrest someone just because she's taking an interest in you. Otherwise half the eligible women in New York would be in jail." She tried to make a joke of it but failed miserably.

"I've had stalkers before – this is different."

"Look, two cops are dead – three now, with Hackett. And it's only by the grace of God and Ryan's inability to keep hold of his phone that there aren't two more. But that doesn't mean we can go around accusing everyone I've ever met."

"Of course it does!" He took a deep breath. "Kate, you were the one who told me not to exclude a possible suspect just because you like them. Look at Kyra."

Kyra Blaine, the one who got away, and the woman Kate had to point out was a suspect, whether Rick agreed or not.

She ignored the slight stab of jealousy and shook her head. "I'm not saying I like her. Just that we should keep an open mind."

Rick sat down on the sofa next to her. "Kate. What is this?"

She gazed at him, her clear eyes troubled, but she finally said, "She ... was a friend of my mother's."

"Your mother?"

"Yes." Kate leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, staring at her hands. "They first met when my mother was a law student and Hazel was a rookie cop. I don't think they were ever at the BFF stage, but they had things in common, and they used to meet up occasionally, to chat and bolster each other's egos."

"Is that what your mother called it?"

"Pretty much in those words. I remember her talking to my Dad about Hazel, about how ambitious she was. She didn't want to stay a cop forever, so Mom encouraged her to take night classes, to get the qualifications for the Bar, but I don't think she needed to be told twice." She made a sound like a swallowed chuckle. "There was this one time I'd just got home from school, and I heard my Mom telling him about how Hazel had quit the force, and how she wouldn't be surprised if she didn't run for Congress or the Senate at some point." She looked up. "That doesn't mean she's involved."

He put his hand on top of hers. "Kate, think about this. An ex-cop who's become an Assistant District Attorney, who was in the right place at the right time, who actually knew your mother, and is turning over the stones to see what she can find out about yours truly ... If it was me, if I was closing my eyes to the possibility that someone I knew might be a murderer ... what would you say?"

Kate's next words were dragged out of her. "I'd say that there's nobody who isn't capable of killing, not when the circumstances are right." She lay back with a heavy sigh, staring into the shadows across the ceiling, blinking as a lightning flash left an actinic glow. "Damn."

"I'm not technically suggesting she's a killer," Rick went on, watching her closely. "But we can't rule her out for being involved."

"No. I suppose you're right."

"I'm going to get the coffee," he said firmly. "I think you need some. And it'll give us a few minutes to think."

* * *

><p>With another name to work with Nash's little programs and sub-routines were paying dividends. Another dozen photos flashed onto the smart board, mostly from newspapers and magazines. There were no more with Noah Goodman, but Hazel Fortunas wasn't one for standing out of the limelight, and she made sure her name was in print as often as possible. It was one picture from a 1998 edition of the NY Ledger, though, that was occupying their attention right now.<p>

"Damn," Ryan breathed.

"Got that right, bro," Esposito agreed.

Nash read the caption aloud. "_Johanna Beckett, instigator of the Take Back the Neighbourhood initiative, seen here with Hazel Fortunas of the District Attorney's office at the opening ceremony._" He looked up. "Johanna Beckett?"

"Kate Beckett's mother," Jordan said, studying the image.

"They look friendly." Esposito was right. Johanna and Hazel were standing close together, waving at the small crowd, smiling broadly. It even looked like they had their arms around each other's waists.

"They were," Nash confirmed, having quickly scanned the article. "According to this, they'd been friends for more than ten years, and it was Ms Fortunas who had assisted in setting up the whole thing."

"Keep your friends close, your enemies closer." Ryan shook his head. "This is crazy. She's an ADA. Why would she get involved in all this?"

"Because she wasn't an ADA at the beginning," Jordan said. "Just another struggling cop." Her head went up as if she was scenting the air. "Okay. I want everything on Hazel Fortunas – all her financials, telephone records, and everywhere her name or picture coincides with Johanna Beckett or Noah Goodman. If you can get her diaries, even better. And I think it's about time we had a word with her. Just a little chat."

Gabrielle Cleaves stirred from her place in the doorway. "My area, I think," she said, turning on her heel and heading into the bullpen. "Velasquez, I've got a little job for you."

* * *

><p>"I need my mother's notes."<p>

"What?" Rick almost choked on the mouthful of coffee. "Why? You know them off by heart."

Kate was staring at the improvised board, the mug untouched in her hand. "The main bits, yes. But I told you, my mother had her own kind of shorthand, and neither me nor Dad could ever figure it out."

He moved to join her, using his closeness as support for her. "But you think you could now?"

"We've got more information. Places, names, dates ..." She was biting at her lip.

"And?" he prompted. "Kate, there's an _and_ hanging there, and it's starting to bug me."

She shook her head angrily, and another sigh erupted. "_And_ I think Hazel might be mentioned. Not personally, but ..."

"You know, that _but_ is just as big as the _and_."

Kate stared at the name written on the board in Rick's slightly untidy hand. "I told you, they used to talk, use each other as a sounding board, two women in the same male-dominated profession." She turned back. "I think she might have told Hazel what she'd found out about Pulgatti."

A feeling of cold crept down Rick's spine, worse than the rain, leaving his nerves frozen. "You do?"

In a sudden movement that made him take a step backward she span on her heel. "I hate this!" Kate slammed her mug down with such force that the coffee slopped over the edge and puddled on the table top. "Oh, God, I'm sorry."

Rick swept the files out of reach of the spreading brown pool. "No problem," he said quickly. "If that's the least that gets spilled, I'm a happy man."

Kate strode into the small kitchen, coming back with a roll of paper towels. "So what's been spilled on it before?" she asked in forced bonhomie.

He tapped his nose in the classic _that's for me to know and for you – even under torture – never to find out_. "Anyway, it's okay. I understand your frustration."

"I just … I need to be there!" She mopped angrily. "If I had access to the notes, to all the records …" She threw the handful of soggy paper down. "As it is I keep nibbling around the edges, but can't get to the meat of it."

"I know how you feel." At her surprised look he went on, "What, do you think I wouldn't? Kate, I want to be there, helping, giving the guys the benefit of my incredible insights just as much as you."

"Incredible insights?"

"Hey, at least I'm not suggesting this was a CIA operation with ice bullets."

"And I'm disappointed."

"One day I'll be vindicated."

"Don't hold your breath."

They shared a smile, but all too soon were back to the serious business in hand. "You really think your Mom's notes would help?" Rick asked.

She nodded. "There's something, a comment, if I could only …" She was getting more and more frustrated as she tried to remember. "Just a few words, written in the margin."

"Kate, leave it be." She glared at him, so he went on quickly, "I meant, for the moment. I always find, if I can't remember something, if I make myself think of something else, it comes back to me. Eventually."

He thought she was going to argue, but as she so often did she surprised him. She smiled, just a slight curve to her lips. "You're right. And … thanks."

"What for?"

"Talking me down."

"You're welcome."

She shook her head. "The more I think about it, the more I think you know me far too well."

"I know you sleep with a gun. I figure that's enough. Besides, that's what happens when you care about someone. I'm sure you know things about me I don't know about."

"Does that sentence actually make sense?"

"Not sure," he admitted, then smiled. "But you know what I mean."

"I don't know which end of the bath you sit at."

"Give it time."

* * *

><p>"Ma'am?" It was Nash again.<p>

"What is it?"

"I'm picking something up. A trace of something ... or someone."

"Explain," Jordan said, leaning over him so she could see the screen.

"There's indications someone's already been into things, a sort of ... echo."

Jordan knew he could have gone into details of exactly what he meant, and was grateful he hadn't. "Go on."

"I'm not seeing it everywhere, but there are footprints in certain areas."

"Can you be more specific?"

"I can't access the terminal, at least not yet, but I'd say someone in Ms Fortunas' office has been doing very specific research, and someone else has tripped over it."

"Research on what?"

"Richard Castle."

"What interest could she possibly have on him?" Jordan shook her head. "As far as they're concerned, Rick Castle is in mourning over the loss of his close friend. How could they possibly know of his involvement in any of this?"

Esposito looked at his partner, who nodded slightly. They'd been working together long enough that they didn't need words, and the Latino detective slipped out of the war room, quickly pulling his cell from his pocket. He dialled, waited for it to be picked up.

"_Yes?"_

"Mrs Montgomery, it's Javier Esposito here."

"_Javier. What can I do for you?"_

"I need to ask you a question."

* * *

><p>"Tell you what, why don't I make us something to eat?" Rick asked from where he was perched on the arm of the sofa.<p>

"Is that your answer to everything? Food?" Kate was still staring at the board, despite their previous discussion.

"You'd be surprised what I can do with squirty cream."

She looked over her shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised. "Do I want to know?"

"One day, maybe." He grinned, looking much younger than usual due to the way the rain had made his hair fall over his forehead and he'd not bothered to gel or mousse it back.

"You're so sure."

"I'm an optimist."

"Really."

"Really." He chuckled. "Kate, it's taken me a long time to tell you how I feel. And I'm not pushing you, honestly," he added, holding up a hand. "But I've waited this long. A bit longer won't hurt me."

"It might."

"I'm not planning on going anywhere."

She felt a wave of uncomfortableness wash over her, followed by something that might be relief. "Anyway," she said, turning back to the board and away from another confrontation, "I'm not hungry."

"Fine." He watched her staring at the scribbles and scrawls, at the delightful way her forehead went into two little lines between her eyebrows, at the pen she was tapping on her chin. "I thought you were going to leave it for a while," he pointed out gently.

"I can't," she admitted. "I keep thinking about Hazel Fortunas. What if my mother _did_ tell her about the Pulgatti case?"

"What if she did?"

"You just told me to suspect everyone. Okay, that's what I'm doing. Could her telling Hazel have led to her death?"

"We've no proof of it."

She turned to gaze at him, her clear eyes unsettling in their intensity. "Pulgatti was the fall guy for the murder of Bob Armen, who was investigating the faulty vests."

"So?"

"So, Hazel was a cop. Why didn't she tell her boss about my mother's investigations after she was killed?"

"Maybe she didn't think it was important. _If_ they had that conversation," he pointed out.

"Just run with this for the moment." Unable to keep from going back to the board, Kate tapped it with the pen. "What if my mother looked into Armen and found out about the vests?"

"There's no proof Johanna knew about them."

She shot him a look that pierced him to the core, diamond hard and ice cold. "My mother was intelligent, and she was looking into the Pulgatti case. Do you really think she wasn't going to be professional and dig as deep as she could?"

"And you think she told Hazel. Asked her opinion on what she should do."

"We never did find out what file it was that was missing, what it contained. Suppose it was the initial report into the vests? That it vanished because someone took it?"

"Kate, this is all conjecture."

"I know. And if I had her notes I might be able to put it together." She sighed heavily, and the diamond melted. "_If_ I had them."

"Where are they?"

"My apartment."

"Right."

"What are you thinking?"

"Rysito."

"Don't call them that."

"Okay. But they can get them for us, upload them somewhere, email them to me …"

"That wouldn't be safe."

"Then they can fax them to … I don't know, maybe Doc Warren's office in town."

She bit her lip, trying to decide what to do. Then … "Yes. Call them. Maybe we can finally get to the bottom of this."

"The phone's in the bedroom." He headed for the stairs, tossing over his shoulder. "You know, Jordan's going to be really pissed when she gets the bill."

"You can pay it," Kate said, smiling. "You can afford it."

"If I'm still alive and kicking."

"Oh, I'll make sure of that."

* * *

><p>Jordan stared at the two men. "She did what?"<p>

"Evelyn Montgomery didn't know what was in the envelope," Esposito insisted. "She had no idea she was handing over her husband's findings on the vests."

"And there was no way she was going to be suspicious of our esteemed ADA, so she didn't think anything of mentioning it," Ryan went on. "She probably thought it was just something to talk about."

Jordan crossed her arms. "So Fortunas knows that Montgomery got something to Castle, and since she's probably paranoid she's going to have convinced herself that it relates to her, to the vest debacle. Only Castle has dropped off the face of the planet, so she gets her subordinate looking into his affairs ..." She refocused on them. "Can she find out about the cabin?"

"Castle said it was in his real name, but it won't take much to be able to put two and two together," Esposito said.

"And nobody ever said she wasn't intelligent," Ryan added.

"I'm getting a bad feeling about this," Jordan murmured. "Particularly with her apparent connection with Goodman."

"There are rumours he wants to run for Mayor," Ryan, fount of a large amount of usually useless information, said.

Esposito was shocked. "Surely he wouldn't be allowed to do that. Knowing what he is."

Jordan shrugged. "He's never been convicted of anything. And if just knowing that a politician was dirty was a hanging offence, there'd be a queue for the gallows."

"I've got something else." Nash had their attention again.

"What?" She was at his side immediately, staring over his shoulder.

"That name the bomb disposal guy came up with for the delay timer, Zachariah Gray? He was right, Gray did blow himself up. But according to the records his last prosecution was handled by Hazel Fortunas, and he got a lot more lenient sentence than he should have, certainly with his previous convictions."

Esposito looked at his partner. "I told you I didn't like her."

Ryan gave a half-smile. "I never doubted you, bro."

"When you two have _quite _finished ..." Jordan was almost, but not quite, tapping her foot. "You do realise all we've got at the moment are coincidences, no hard facts."

"We've got the picture of her with Noah Goodman." Esposito pointed to the photo still on the smart board.

"And we don't know he's done anything yet."

"He killed three cops!"

"Not personally."

"He might as well have!" Esposito was obviously angry. He had a great respect for the cop on the beat, most of them doing a damn good job for little thanks. "All to make a few bucks."

"Reprehensible, yes, and we can look into that. But otherwise ..."

Esposito looked about ready to blow, and Ryan put his hand on his partner's arm. "What do _you_ think?" he asked quietly.

"Me?" Jordan looked from one to the other. "I think he's up to his neck in this, and so's Hazel Fortunas. _But_ that's my gut talking, and unfortunately I need more than just that to take to my bosses."

"Then we find it." Ryan's words, though, were more to Esposito than the FBI agent.

Esposito nodded, then said, "You know, the worst thing? She was at Montgomery's funeral." His disgust was evident.

A gleam appeared in Jordan's eye. "She was?"

"I remember seeing her. Then after the ambulance had gone she gave a press conference."

"She did," Ryan agreed.

Jordan appeared to be thinking deeply, and was about to say something when Gabrielle Cleaves strode back into the war room.

"We're in trouble," she said, her whole body tense. "She's gone."

"What?"

"Hazel Fortunas. She's not at her home, and her office says she called in saying she was going to take a couple of days away. She's never done that before." Gabrielle looked more than worried. "And Noah Goodman's dropped off the map too. He cancelled his appointments for the rest of the day and tomorrow."

"Do you think he's running?" Ryan asked.

"I doubt it." Jordan turned her glare at Esposito. "Call him," she ordered. "Call Castle now." She didn't wait to see him hurry into the corridor and take out the bat-phone but instead turned to Nash. "I need a team out at the cabin immediately."

"Yes, ma'am."

Ryan looked worried. "You really think he's in danger?"

Jordan's cool gaze bit through him. "If we're right, somehow Goodman and Fortunas are in this together. Whether it's through a third party or not, they think they've killed Beckett. They _have_ killed Hackett. What do you think?"

"Wait a minute," Gabrielle said suddenly. "What do you mean, _think_ they've killed Beckett?"

To her disgust they ignored her.

"They don't know what he knows," Ryan pointed out.

"I don't think they care. Even if he _might_ know something, they're cleaning house."

Esposito stepped back in, his features lined with worry. "There's no answer. Nor on his own cell."

"What about the cabin's phone?"

"There isn't one."

"Shit." It took a lot to make Jordan Shaw curse, but now she did. "Okay. Nash, we need a helicopter right now."

"Sorry, boss, but no can do." The tension in the room made Nash forget himself, but nobody upbraided him. "There's a storm over the area – nothing's flying in or out."

"Then get us as close as you can, and we'll take cars the rest of the way in," she decided. "And we'll be breaking the speed limit all the way."

* * *

><p>Noah Goodman sat back and gazed at his companion in ill-disguised annoyance. "I hope you realise I had to cancel three meetings for this."<p>

"How will your bank balance cope?" Hazel Fortunas' sarcastic tone dripped with scorn.

"It has nothing to do with money, and everything to do with reputation."

"You think I'm not trying to save mine?" She crossed one leg over the other to a whisper of nylon.

"If you hadn't been so ... precipitous, I could have worked this out without the need for bloodshed."

"You didn't know Kate Beckett. She was like her mother – tenacious as hell."

"And Hackett? What was he?"

"A leech. But he didn't call you."

"You should never have done something so pre-emptive without talking to me first."

"And if he'd talked? Told them what he knew, what he thought he knew?"

"Then we could have taken care of it."

"What, by hiring another hitman?" She shook her head in disbelief. "Coonan and Lockwood were both supposed to be the best, and they're both dead."

"Spoils of war."

"Spoils of ... Noah, you haven't even had to get your hands dirty."

"You should have left it to me."

"Like I left Johanna to you?"

"Yes."

"I thought you were just going to scare her. Threaten her, perhaps. Not kill her!"

"I decided on the long term option."

"She was my friend."

"Then why did you tell me?" He exhaled through his nose, a habit he had when he was annoyed at someone. "We've been through this before, Hazel. You knew what I was likely to do, so there's no point in crying over spilled milk." He fixed her with a glare. "And you were the one who shot her daughter."

"I had no choice. She was getting too close."

"Exactly." Actually he'd been shocked – and, against all the odds, impressed – by her audacity. He wasn't sure he could ever do what she did: waiting until everyone was settling down next to Montgomery's coffin, then slipping away to take the rifle she'd hidden before dawn and succeeding where Lockwood had failed. To shoot a police detective in the middle of so many other officers ... she had to have balls of steel to even contemplate such an act.

Not that he was ever going to tell her that.

"What have you made of me, Noah?" she asked, shaking her head.

"What you were always meant to be. Wealthy and successful."

"Yes, but at what price?"

"Don't be naive. You were willing to pay it, just like me." He gave a slight snort. "You know, if you'd been able to keep your panties on we wouldn't be in this position."

"If I had – as you so elegantly put it – kept my panties on, you wouldn't be running for Mayor. You'd probably still be peddling sub-standard protective wear. Or more likely languishing in prison."

"That, my sweet, is what I have you for." He put his hand on her knee but she knocked it away.

"You don't _have_ me, Noah. Not for a long time."

"Pity." He smiled faintly. "But don't tell me you cried when Raglan was killed."

"What do you think?"

"I think you put another tick in that little book of yours, then turned over and went back to sleep." He examined his manicure. "And of course I'm grateful for you sleeping with the man and finding out about his little side business all those years ago."

"I thought I loved him."

"A married man." He tutted. "I'm surprised at you, Hazel. Still, you know what they say about a woman scorned ..."

"He didn't tell me. I had to find out." The memory still stung, although the hurt was buried under years of denial.

"And you told me." This time Goodman beamed. "Just think of what we've been able to do with that money."

"I just wanted to get my own back."

"And I was able to get rid of that FBI agent. Putting his nose into things he should have stayed out of." A note of venom crept into his voice. "It turned out well for both of us."

"Until Johanna started poking around."

"Yes, well, there are always casualties." He patted her knee again. "And I'm grateful for all you've done."

"No, you're not." She turned hard eyes on him. "You're scared of what I might have on you that I could turn over to the authorities in exchange for a lighter sentence."

"You wouldn't, would you?" He managed to look hurt.

"That's why you're here, Noah." She settled back into the leather seat. "No other reason. Why you're going to be as deeply implicated in this as I am."

Lightning flashed outside the car, briefly illuminating the I-87 sign as they sped towards Quarter Lake.


	16. Chapter 16

"It's dead," Rick said, stepping slowly down the stairs and trying all the combinations he could think of to activate the phone.

Kate didn't turn around, yet again scrutinising the board. "What?"

"There's nothing." He reached the floor and looked up, somewhat abashed. "I think the battery's flat."

Now she was gazing at him. "Flat. Didn't you put it onto charge last night?"

"No. Otherwise it wouldn't be flat." He crossed to the chest of drawers and opened the top one, scrabbling amongst the bottle openers, screwdrivers and other discarded detritus of living, where he was sure he'd tossed the charger the first day. "Shit." Snatching his fingers back he sucked hard on them as the encountered something sharp. "Got it," he finally said indistinctly, tugging the unit loose.

"Honestly," Kate said on a sigh. "They might be trying to contact us."

"As soon as I've got it working in at least we'll know," he pointed out as he went down onto his heels next to the power point. Plugging it in he stood up, fiddling with the cable, attempting to get the tiny connector into its corresponding hole. "Yes!" he announced, just as a roll of thunder rattled the windows in their frames, and all the lights went out.

"What the hell was that?" Kate asked, her hand automatically going to her waist for her gun, only to realise she wasn't wearing it.

Rick dropped the cellphone onto the chair and headed for the kitchen. "I think it was the lightning," he said, knocking his injured calf on something and swearing. "It's hit the power lines," he added as he disappeared into the gloom.

"Don't you have a generator?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure I can work it. Never needed it before." From the sound he was rummaging around in the dark.

"I can take a look."

A light dancing on the wall indicated he'd found a torch, and he came back in, his body a dark silhouette behind it. "You know about generators?"

"My dad used to restore old engines," Kate admitted, squinting slightly. "He'd let me watch."

She could tell he was grinning even without being able to see properly.

"So you were a grease monkey?"

"Oh, I wasn't allowed to touch." Then, deciding to be scrupulously honest, she amended, "Well, not when my Mom was watching."

"Photos?"

"Not in your lifetime." She nodded down. "Have you got any more torches?"

"I don't think so. At least, none with batteries." He grinned, the expression oddly demonic in the torchlight. "But I think I've got something better. Something I saw when I was under the stairs getting out the board for you."

He was right, and in no time at all – at least, the time it took to toss the stuff out he'd put back, and curse under his breath as he caught his already stubbed fingers in a fold-up chair – they were sitting in the soft light from two wind-up hurricane lamps.

"How long do they last?" Kate asked, examining the winder on one.

"No idea," Rick admitted cheerfully. "I bought them on a whim in town, but I've never used them."

"So it could be a few minutes."

"Then we wind them up again." He laughed. "But you have to admit, it's quite romantic."

"Romantic." She glared at him. "Did you arrange this?"

"Yes, Kate," he said in a heavy voice, enunciating clearly. "I arranged for the storm and told it to take out the power lines."

She had to smile. "Okay. Maybe not. But you're not going to take advantage of it either."

He held up both hands. "On my honour."

"Hmmn." She stood up. "Anyway, at least I should be able to see what I'm doing with the generator."

"It's in a hut out the back." Rick glanced at the window, hearing rain still lashing at the glass. "You'll get soaked, Kate. Again. In fact, we'll _both_ get soaked, because I have to show you where it is."

"We need the phone."

He sighed. "Sometimes you can be so one-track minded."

She walked to the coat rack on the wall by the front door, where a selection of jackets and oilskins hung. "I don't think that's a word."

"I'm an author. It is if I say it is."

"Is it in the dictionary?" She rummaged through the coats, finding one in bright yellow that looked about the right size.

"Shakespeare coined hundreds of new words, and nobody got on his back," Rick complained, getting to his feet nevertheless.

"_If_ you think he wrote all those plays."

He let his jaw drop. "Don't even joke about such a thing."

She smiled and handed him a large brown waterproof duster. "Grab one of the lamps," she ordered.

* * *

><p>The helicopter had put them down at a small airfield, but they were still half an hour from Quarter Lake.<p>

"Anything?" Jordan asked as they climbed into the waiting cars.

Esposito shook his head. "I've left messages, but nobody's picking up." He glared at the phone in disgust as if it was all the fault of an inanimate piece of plastic.

"Then we just hope for the best."

"Yeah." Esposito glanced at his partner, but Ryan didn't look any more optimistic than he felt.

* * *

><p>"Nothing." Kate pushed at her hair with the back of her hand, trying to get it out of her eyes. It hadn't take her long to realise there was way more wrong with the generator than hitting it with a spanner and a quick wipe down with an oily rag was going to cure. "If I took it apart ..."<p>

"It's getting late," Rick interrupted. "We can deal with it in the morning." He waved the hurricane lamp. It'll be easier in daylight rather than having to use these things. I'll help."

"This from the man who couldn't even set up an espresso machine." Still, she smiled. "I suppose we could wait. But that still doesn't solve the problem of a lack of contact."

"I suppose I could drive into town, use a ..." He stopped, his eyes widening a little. "My cellphone."

"What? Oh."

It would have been comical on some people's faces, seeing Kate's expression go from confused to understanding to ever so slightly embarrassed in less than a second. But to Rick it was delightful. And endearing. And cute. And ... "Let's get's back inside. I'll get the phone."

"No, I will." She pushed her arms back into the yellow waterproof coat.

He assisted where he could, his own brown duster crackling slightly. "I warn you, I get some ... interesting texts on it sometimes."

"Interesting? Or obscene?"

"Probably bordering on the criminal."

"I promise not to look."

They hurried back to the cabin, but the rain was already easing.

"Eye of the storm," Rick commented.

"It's not a hurricane."

"I know the weather around here. We'll get a dry spell for a while, then the system will back around again for another drenching, probably longer." He opened the back door, letting her through first into the small kitchen.

"If you ever get tired of writing for a living, you could always be a weatherman," she joked, grinning at him as she continued on into the living room, grabbing the second lamp before taking the stairs two at a time.

He shook his head, walking a little slower as he took off the brown coat to hang back up by the front door.

Kate, meanwhile, had reached the bedroom and quickly found Rick's cellphone where he'd tossed it onto the easy chair, the battery next to it. Quickly slotting it into place she powered up, almost dropping it in surprise as it immediately signalled missed calls, all of them from a number she recognised. Taking a gamble, she hit reply.

"_Castle?"_ It was Esposito's voice.

"No. Me."

There was the slightest of pauses when she imagined him exchanging a glance with Ryan. _"You've got problems."_ He quickly went over their findings.

"Noah Goodman." She took a breath and held it. "Why am I not surprised?"

"_You don't seem to be over Hazel Fortunas either."_

"That's because I'm not. We got to her from our end too."

"_Why aren't I surprised either?"_

"Because you know me."

"_Yeah. We knew you wouldn't be able to leave it alone." _There was another pause, this time slightly longer. _"Special Agent Shaw wants to know what you and Castle were doing not to answer the batphone."_

"Nothing like that." She got back to business. "How viable do you think the threat is?"

"_Goodman and Fortunas are off the radar, and according to Nash you wouldn't want to meet either of them in a dark alley. Hazel would have to be a good shot, since she's an ex-cop, but Goodman's something of a marksman as well."_

"Nash?"

"_One of Jordan's boys."_

She considered the options quickly, her mind running on overdrive. "Then we'll leave. If they really do know this place belongs to Castle, and they're cleaning house, he's next on their list."

"_We're nearly with you. Jordan's got –"_

Someone knocked. Not over the phone, but downstairs at the front door. "Shit."

"_What?"_

"I think you're going to be too late." Tossing the cell back onto the easy chair she let the coat fall to the floor, at the same time opening the bedside table drawer and taking out her gun. Quickly checking it was loaded and ready, she contemplated turning off the hurricane lamp, but discounted it immediately – if things were as bad as she thought there was going to be at least one person outside watching, and they might realise there was another person in the house. She had to believe Esposito was correct, so this was likely to be their only advantage. Still, she needed to know.

Sliding to the window she looked out, keeping well back. Rick had been right, and the rain had eased considerably, and she was surprised to glimpse the moon through a crack in the heavy clouds. It was later than she thought, but it was the movement in the trees to the right that caught her eye, illuminated for just a moment.

She could hear voices downstairs, and knew she had to make a decision. And gamble they wouldn't shoot first and ask questions after. She moved to the window at the rear of the room behind the bed, glancing out just once before opening the casement. A few feet below the roof of the small kitchen extension shone wetly, and without a second thought she swung a leg over the sill.

* * *

><p>The knock had surprised him, but unlike Kate he had no reason to be more than normally suspicious so he opened the door. A man stood outside, hair plastered to his head, stooping slightly. Just beyond him Rick could see a woman's shape, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.<p>

"Sorry to bother you," the man said, smiling in a friendly fashion. "But our car broke down on the main road, and I wonder if my wife and I could come in and use your phone?"

"Of course," Rick said, stepping back to let them in and gesturing to the non-functioning lights. "But I'm afraid I don't have a working phone at the moment." Closing the door behind he added, "I can take you into town if you like."

"That's okay," the woman said. "We're not going anywhere."

He half-turned in surprise, but froze midway, the muzzle of her .38 pressed into his neck.

"Now, now, Hazel," the man chastised. "Not yet. Not until we've got what we came for."

"Hazel?" Rick blurted. "Hazel Fortunas?"

She sighed. "See?" she said. "I told you. It looks like we were just in time."

"He knows you, my dear. Not me."

"Then let me introduce you." Hazel ground the gun a little deeper. "Noah Goodman."

"Damn it, Hazel."

"Don't worry. Mr Castle isn't going to be telling anyone."

"_The_ Noah Goodman?" Rick asked.

Goodman exhaled loudly through his nose. "I don't think there are two of us."

"You're a governor at my daughter's school."

"Among other things."

"We met once at a fundraiser. Only you've got hair now. I didn't recognise you."

Goodman ran a hand through his wet salt-and-pepper locks. "Yes, well, one has to keep up one's image."

"Implants or a piece?" It seemed crazy, talking of inconsequential things, but all Rick could think of was _Kate's upstairs – she'll do something. She won't let them shoot me._ Except he'd let them shoot her, and maybe she was planning on getting her own back.

"What does that matter?"

"Just curious. You're involved in all this?" Realisation hit him. "You're the money."

"Got it in one."

"Noah," Hazel interrupted. "We don't have time for this."

"No, I suppose not." Goodman looked around the room, his eyes falling on the improvised murder wall, as well as the files spread over the table. "It looks as if we were right."

"Burn them," she advised. "Then there's no danger of anyone else stumbling across them."

Goodman nodded, crossing to the board. "You know," he said idly, picking up the eraser, "he got most of this right."

"You don't have to sound quite so admiring."

"Not admiring." He wiped the eraser across the smooth surface, obliterating the words. "Just commenting."

"Hurry up."

He glared at her. "You don't get to tell me what to do."

"If you two want to argue, I can come back later," Rick put in.

"Quiet," Hazel ordered, pressing harder with her gun and knowing she was leaving bruises by the way he winced.

Goodman tossed the eraser onto the table then began to gather the documents together, running his eye over them as he stacked. "Montgomery seems to have been thorough."

"He was a good cop," Hazel admitted.

"Good?" He seemed mildly amused at the notion.

"Efficient, then." She shrugged. "It's why we got him implicated in Armen's death, so we could keep him under control."

"Yes, Raglan was very helpful with that. Montgomery never knew he wasn't the one who pulled the –"

A gunshot, interrupted him, then another, almost on its heels, outside in the now softly falling rain.

"Stirling?" Hazel asked, glancing sharply at Goodman.

He didn't answer but instead turned on Rick. "Who's with you?"

"Nobody."

Suddenly he was in the author's face. "Tell me who!"

"I'm guessing Stirling is one of yours. He must be shooting at shadows," Rick insisted, trying to be cool and look innocent at the same time as attempting to breathe with the gun pushing against his Adam's apple.

"I'll go and look," Hazel said, stepping back and giving Rick space enough to rub at his neck.

Goodman nodded, taking a .45 from his own waistband, aiming it with a steady hand. "Don't be long."

The ADA slipped out through the front door into the cool darkness, leaving Rick with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that maybe he'd lost Kate all over again.

* * *

><p><strong>A.N.:<strong> I had hoped to get this completed before the new season starts on Monday, but RealLife(TM) had interfered somewhat. I shall attempt to upload the last chapters over the weekend, but if I don't manage it, please bear with me. We're into the home stretch! Jane


	17. Chapter 17

Despite all her good intentions, she hadn't managed to creep up successfully on him, and at the very last second he span on his heel, the gun in his hand pointed directly at her. Kate had no choice, and without conscious intercession of her mind she fired. He jerked, his finger contracting on the trigger and sending a bullet into the tree next to her, then his body tumbled backwards, disappearing into the gloom.

Kate hurried forwards, weapon at the ready, but in the darkness she couldn't tell what was him in the dip and what was ankle-biting nettles and bushes. Her foot knocked something and she glanced down. His gun. Well, he wasn't going to be needing it any longer, even if she hadn't killed him outright. Scooping it up she tucked it into the back of her jeans, ignoring the cold wet metal against her skin, and carried on around towards the front of the cabin.

* * *

><p>"I wouldn't worry too much," Goodman said, perching on the back of one of the sofas, framed against the cleaned murder board. "Whoever's out there is probably already dead. Stirling is an excellent driver, and an equally good bodyguard."<p>

"What?" Rick wasn't listening to him, his ears straining for sounds outside instead.

Goodman looked almost amused. "And I think between the three of us we can handle one moderately well-known pulp author."

That got Rick's attention. "Pulp?"

"Not that I've read any, of course. Airport trash of the lowest kind."

Rick knew what some people thought of his books – his mother had made it her aim in life to find the bad reviews, just to keep his feet on the ground – but to hear this man describe his work as trash ... "You know, I don't think I've ever met a person less like their name."

Goodman lifted one eyebrow. "I have the gun and you're trying to annoy me?"

"It's genetic. I anticipate my descendents to be exactly the same."

"Then you'd better hope your daughter has children. Because you won't get the opportunity for any more."

Rick swallowed, hoping it wasn't visible in the low light from the hurricane lamp.

* * *

><p>Someone else was outside. A soft mist – not hard enough to be called rain – still spattered the leaves, but Kate was positive someone had come out of the cabin and was now moving quietly through the trees.<p>

After her encounter with the gunman she had no inclination to believe it was Rick, so she kept to the shadows, using what ambient light there was and the occasional stab of moonlight to search. Her initial temptation to go and save Castle had to be put on hold – the last thing she wanted was to be flanked.

Actually, no. The _last_ thing she wanted was for her partner to end up dead. So better to get on with it.

* * *

><p>"You're going to kill me then."<p>

Goodman shrugged. "Probably not me personally. I imagine Hazel's going to do that. It won't be the first time."

"Hackett?"

The other man laughed. "Yes. And your cop pals too."

"Ryan and Esposito. They have names. And you failed – they're still alive."

"Hazel failed. And I don't think they matter all that much. Without all _that_ ..." He nodded towards the files on the table. "... they won't have any proof, and I've weathered worse."

"And Hazel? Does she weather the storm as well?"

"Honestly, I don't really care." His eyes, dark under his brows, glittered. "I'm far more interested in how you knew about things."

Rick took a step forward. "Did you think I wouldn't keep in touch? Just because you killed the woman I loved –"

"Yes, I heard about that. Hazel thinks it's romantic. Not that it stopped her shooting Detective Beckett."

Another step. "She ... she was the one?"

Goodman laughed again. "Do I detect a slight hint of sexism, Mr Castle? Don't you believe a woman could do such a thing?"

"Maybe more than half of the bad guys in my ... _trashy_ ... books have been female, and I've been shadowing Kate Beckett for over two years. I think I know what women can do." One more step. "And I know that you don't want to do this."

"Yes, I do."

"Only you've never killed anyone before, have you?"

"I like learning new skills." Goodman seemed to notice for the first time that Rick had moved. "You can't run, you know."

"Wasn't planning on it." Rick grabbed the hurricane lamp from the side table and threw it hard.

Goodman ducked automatically, putting his arms up to protect himself.

Immediately Rick followed with the small table itself, catching Goodman across the side of the head and dropping him to the floor. He ran for the door, not waiting to see if his adversary was following, almost anticipating the impact of a bullet between his shoulders, and almost in shock as he gained the outside air.

* * *

><p>This was harder than she expected. Back in the city she'd chased criminals through every imaginable type of landscape from car lots to tenements to rat infested sewers, but even in her high heels she hadn't had to cope with the possibility of tripping over an exposed root and breaking an ankle. The closest she'd come was in Central Park going after a pickpocket when she was still a rookie. At least now her trainers were appropriate, but she was also listening for her quarry as well.<p>

Not that difficult, it seemed.

Someone was blundering towards her. She stayed still, her back against a rough tree trunk until whoever it was had gone by. She aimed ...

"Damn it, Rick! I nearly shot you!"

"Kate?" He turned, then grabbed her and held her tightly. "Kate!"

She returned the embrace, but only briefly, pushing him away so she could look into his shadowed face. "How did you get away?"

"Luck. And a handy table. I think I knocked him out, but I wouldn't want to swear to it."

She came to a decision. "Get to the car."

"What?"

"You're going to leave."

"No. No way." He was firm, washed over with anger that she would even consider he would get out without her. "I'm not going anywhere unless you come too."

"Don't argue with me."

"Then you're leaving too. Hazel Fortunas is out here. She's got a gun." He took hold of her shoulders. "She shot you, Kate."

Her mind clicked over, accepting and not questioning, for the moment anyway. "Come on." If she could get Castle to the car, make him wait for her – hit him on the head and lock him inside if necessary – maybe she could finish this. Make up for the years of not being good enough.

"Where?"

He didn't get an answer.

"Castle, down!" A different voice, a woman, easily used to being obeyed.

Kate launched herself at him, taking him off balance to fall backwards as a gun boomed close by. Someone screamed.

"Are you okay?" Kate asked, looking down into Rick's face.

"Yeah. Fine."

"Stay put." A fine pair of ankles in heels, muddied here and there, came into his view.

"Jordan?" he managed to ask in surprise.

"Who did you expect, the Easter Bunny?" She moved forward, gun at the ready.

Kate scrambled to her feet.

"No, Kate, wait," Rick urged, rolling onto his side and reaching out to her.

She didn't listen, couldn't. Instead she paced after Jordan.

A woman lay on the ground, propped against a tree stump. Mid-fifties, her faded prettiness was now twisted with pain, her hands clasped over her stomach, the stain on her blouse already growing.

Jordan lowered her gun, but Hazel Fortunas wasn't looking at her. Even in the dim light she was staring beyond her, her eyes wide. "You're dead. I killed you."

Kate's gaze didn't waver. "Missed."

"I ... never miss."

"You must be getting sloppy."

"I'm ... almost ... glad." She shuddered.

"Almost?"

"Johanna wasn't meant ... I didn't want ..." Blood was trickling between her fingers. "That ... that was Goodman."

"It didn't stop you."

"No." Hazel almost smiled. "I'm still ... glad."

"That doesn't make it better." Kate waited for a response, but there wasn't ever going to be one. She exhaled. "She had to have the last word."

"No," Jordan said. "You do. You're still alive. Thanks to Castle."

"Yes."

"Where is your shadow, by the way?"

"He's ..." Kate looked around. "He was right behind me." She took two steps the way she'd come, then another, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes. "Damn it."

* * *

><p>"Move." Goodman was nervous, that was obvious, but he wasn't about to let his hostage get away.<p>

Rick had expected the man pulling him to his feet to be Ryan or Esposito, but his heart froze when he realised it was Goodman. He went to call out, but the gun jammed into his throat just below his jaw.

"One word and you're dead." Just a whisper, but enough.

He dragged Rick away into the trees, not caring in the slightest that his partner in crime was bleeding out a couple of dozen feet away.

"This won't do you any good," Rick said, feeling the gun grinding on the bones in his spine. "They know who you are. What you've done." His foot slipped on the wet earth, but Goodman tugged him back upright. "You won't get away."

"Sure I will." Still, the sneering tone was firm. "All I need to do is get to the airport. I can have my jet waiting, then it's goodbye America, hello non-extradition country." He leaned closer.

"The FBI will have frozen your assets by now."

"Do you really think they know about all the money?" Goodman laughed. "You're more naive than I thought."

"You won't make it."

"You'd better hope I do." He pushed harder with the gun, a slight smile twisting his lips at the groan Rick was unable to keep from making. "Because as far as I'm concerned, you're expendable."

* * *

><p>"Beckett?"<p>

Kate half turned, seeing Ryan emerge from behind a tree, Esposito at his back. "Goodman's got Castle. Fan out."

"Got it, boss." He went left.

"We'll find him," Esposito assured her, then went to the right.

"Yeah," she murmured to herself. "Of course we will." She moved ahead.

* * *

><p>"You know, I didn't like you when I met you. And my instincts are pretty good." Rick had to keep him talking. Unlike before, when he figured he had at least a half-decent chance of getting away, this time he knew he was relying on Kate and Jordan to find him.<p>

"Don't worry, I'll cry into my tequila." Goodman paused, making Rick do the same by the simple method of dragging on his hair. He seemed to be searching for something.

"Are you lost?" Rick asked, knowing his eyes were tearing up.

"No."

"Only these woods are notorious. Take a wrong turn, step off a path when you shouldn't, and it could be weeks before anyone finds your body."

"It's not my body you should be worried about." Goodman stabbed with the gun again.

Something snapped in Rick, and yet another bruise was one too many. He span on his heel, his fist already balled, ready to take control. He lunged but his foot slipped on a muddy stone hidden beneath a puddle, and Goodman was able to sidestep, bringing the gun down on the back of Rick's neck.

He fell, dazed, sliding into the puddle face down. Before he could get to his knees, he felt a foot between his shoulder blades, pushing him into the water. He started to splutter, then held his breath, trying to use his weight and muscles to throw Goodman off him, but he was in the more vulnerable position, and couldn't even roll away.

"_A few inches is all it takes."_ A memory of a conversation he'd had with a doctor once at college came back to him, as clearly as if she was standing at his elbow. _"Really less – enough to cover the nose and mouth, enough to breathe in. The body does the rest."_

"_Is it painful?"_ he'd asked, making notes and wondering if the cleavage inside her hospital coat was all hers.

"_It seems to depend on the individual. Some people who have been saved say it's like drifting to sleep."_

It wasn't. This was nothing like sleeping, and he was going to fight it every inch of the way. He struggled, pushing on the ground, but it slid away from him and he couldn't get a grip. Thunder rolled overhead, or maybe it was in his ears, and the urge to take a breath was becoming overwhelming. No. He wouldn't go, wouldn't go gently, wouldn't ...

Goodman pressed harder, watching Castle's thrashings, his feet drumming into the dirt, lessening now, growing weaker.

"Goodman!"

He looked up, feeling the blood drain from his face as he recognised the woman walking towards him, her gun steady on him. "Detective Beckett." He began to raise his own weapon.

Kate stopped. "Drop it," she ordered. Then she saw Rick. "Let him up."

"Why would I want to do that?"

"Because otherwise I'll shoot you."

"You're a police officer. You have rules."

Kate could see Rick was barely moving. "Back away!"

"No. I don't think I will." He pushed harder on the body at his feet, and as her eyes left him and dropped down, he aimed.

The sound of the gunshot was loud, ringing through the trees, startling sleeping birds and making them rustle the leaves.

Kate ran forward, forgetting Goodman, knowing her bullet had been accurate, instead dropping to her heels next to Rick.

She dragged him forwards, just enough so his head was out of the water, and tried to ignore the stabbing pain in her side. Warmth was running down her chilled skin, and she knew she was bleeding again. But that was secondary. Her fingers trembling, perhaps with cold or maybe fear, she touched his neck, trying to find a pulse. Nothing.

"Damn it, Rick, stay with me," she ground out, starting chest compressions. "I'm not going through all this just to have you die on me."

She counted to five, her hands pressing down on each beat, then tilted his head back, opening his mouth. "Breathe, you bastard," she muttered, covering his lips with hers and blowing deeply into his lungs. His chest expanded, and as she lifted away and felt the air brush past her face, she began another set of compressions. A vague memory assaulted her, but she pushed it to one side, all her concentration on what she was doing.

Someone crashed through the undergrowth towards her.

"Beckett!" It was Esposito, Ryan not a second behind.

"Call an ambulance," she panted, breathing for Rick once again.

"One's on its way," he assured her, holstering his gun and dropping to his knees. "Want I should take over?"

She only shook her head, keeping up the mantra. One – two – three – four – five – breathe. Then again.

An owl screeched low over them, heading out to hunt as the clouds parted for a moment to show the moon, and still she laboured.

Then he coughed. Wrenching his head to one side a gust of water erupted from his mouth, and in a moment she'd turned him, letting him vomit up all the water he'd swallowed and breathed in.

"Shit," he managed to say, trying to roll into a foetal position.

"Lie still," she told him, rubbing his back.

"Kate?" He peered up at her through bloodshot eyes. "You okay?"

"Me?" She shook her head in disbelief. "I thought you were dead!"

"Now you ... know ... how I ... felt," he gasped out, coughing again, his whole body wracked. When he finished, even as his eyes were still streaming, he managed a smile and said, "You saved me."

"Always."

* * *

><p>[<strong>A.N.:<strong> To all of you who read 3x00 Summer Heat there is a nod to that story in this chapter, but since that story never happened in the great canonic scheme of things (as this one won't, I'm sure) it stays only a brief reference!

Oh, and the final chapter will be longer, and probably will be uploaded in the next couple of days. Until then ... enjoy the new season!]


	18. Chapter 18

Kate stared into the flames of the fire Ryan had insisted on lighting, despite the time of year, to ward off any possible chills due to, as he put it, "running around the countryside without a vest on". Although, given his broken wrist, what he actually did was supervise Esposito, and Kate had to hide a smile as she considered that if Ryan got out of this without at least one more fractured limb, he'd be lucky.

They'd finally headed back to the city, taking one of the cars and leaving Kate alone with her thoughts.

Well, almost.

Jordan stepped inside the cabin, shaking the rain off one of the umbrellas she'd had stashed in the back of the other Fedmobile. She looked surprised to see Kate still awake. "You should be in bed."

"I'm not tired."

"Going through exhaustion and out the other side isn't the same." Jordan tilted her head slightly. "Do you feel up to answering a few questions?"

"I suppose." Kate pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders, using it like a shield where she sat on the sofa.

Jordan sat down in the armchair. "So do you want to explain things to me?" she asked, her tone surprisingly gentle.

"Goodman ordered my mother killed, and Fortunas tried to kill everyone else." Kate shrugged. "What else is there?"

"Detective, I'm not blind. Two people are dead, another is in the hospital – which is where you should be, by the way –"

"No." She'd let the EMTs redress her wound – again – and ignored their recommendations to follow Goodman's bodyguard to the emergency department.

"And both you and I know there's more than your boys let on."

"I don't know where you got that idea."

"How about the fact that your late captain was far more involved in this than anyone suspects?"

Kate deliberately took her time to answer. "He was killed trying to protect me."

"Oh, that I believe. But there's a hell of a lot more to it."

"Jordan, they're dead. They're all dead. Drop it."

For a long moment neither woman spoke, and if there was any magic left in the world their gazes should have been sparking fire where they connected.

Then Jordan sighed deeply. "Beckett. Kate. I _know_."

Kate studied the other woman, her veneer of cool elegance hiding a warm person who cared about the victims of the crimes she investigated, and wondered just how much she honestly knew. Maybe not everything, but enough. Still ... "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jordan nodded her head slowly, and sat back, crossing her ankles. "By the way, I thought you'd like to know – Nash sent a team to Hazel Fortunas' home – they found enough tools in the garage to keep your Chris Chan happy for a while."

"She built the bombs?"

"More than that. Nash did a little work of his own – he compared the photos of Montgomery's funeral."

"That's what she meant, wasn't it?" Kate said, understanding washing over her like a warm wave. "She was the one who shot me."

"Yes. She was quite prominent in a number of pictures so we could build up a decent timeline, then ... nothing, until after the officers started to search for the shooter."

"And the gun?"

"Cleaned and put back in her cabinet at home. She didn't think anyone was ever going to find out, so why get rid of it?"

"So she killed Hackett."

"I imagine he was getting to be a nuisance. And maybe he was trying a little blackmail of his own."

"And it was all over those damn vests."

Jordan made a non-committal face. "We may never know the full extent of their involvement, but from what I can work out, Goodman ordered Coonan to kill your mother because she was getting too close to the truth behind Armen's death, and that would have opened up a whole can of very stinking worms."

"And her colleagues?"

"A smokescreen. They were all involved in that Take Back the Neighbourhood scheme, and if anyone had noticed the similarities in the deaths, well, Vulcan Simmons could have made a decent fall guy."

_Maybe Montgomery too,_ Kate thought but didn't say. _Maybe he never shot Armen, and was just another fall guy._ Instead she said, "Thanks."

"What for?"

"Finishing it."

"Oh, you did that all by yourself."

"So what happens now?"

"To what?"

Kate took a deep breath. "Goodman and Hazel are dead. You shot one, me the other. At the very least IA will want to do an investigation, make sure it was justified." _Instead of revenge,_ her treacherous inner voice added.

"Is that what you think?"

"What?"

Jordan smiled faintly. "That you killed Goodman because he ordered the hit on your mother."

Kate stared at her. "Do all FBI agents have to be psychic?"

"It's part of the job description."

Kate had to laugh at her dry tone. "Is that the secret to your success?"

"Probably," Jordan said. "And hard work." Her smile warmed. "It's okay. Leave it in my hands. You were saving Castle's life, and your own. It was a clean kill."

"Right." She knew it wasn't as easy as that, though. She might never be able to convince herself that she couldn't have just shot to wound, to disable, rather than taking Goodman's life. "An eye for an eye."

"Maybe a little bit biblical," Jordan commented.

Kate hadn't realised she'd spoken. "Sorry."

"Don't be. And in a way it's true. Just not how you were thinking." She stood up. "Anyway, my ride is waiting. And I've got a report to write."

"Then thank you again."

"No. I think we're even." Jordan gave a half salute and went to the door, picking up the umbrella again and walking out into the driving rain without another word.

Kate had to smile. Castle had been right about the weather – as usual – and the drumming on the roof was almost calming. She got to her feet and stretched, dropping the blanket back onto the sofa. She knew the inner cold she felt wasn't because of the soaking, but more because it was over. Finally. And truth was, she didn't know what came next.

Still, there was one thing she could do.

Picking up the hurricane lamp she slowly climbed the stairs, waiting outside the door to the bedroom for half a dozen heartbeats before going inside. "Are you still awake?" she whispered.

"Yes." Rick turned over and looked at her in the warm lamplight. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Everyone gone?"

"Yes. It's just us."

"Good." He coughed, wincing as it caught his raw throat.

"You should be in the hospital."

"I'll be fine."

"Rick, I ..."

"What?"

"I ..." She muttered something.

"Sorry ... what?"

"I said I thought I'd lost you." A sift of heightened colour touched her cheeks.

"Kate, Kate. I told you – you can't get rid of me that easily." He coughed again, deeper this time, the effort racking his body and making him contort in the bed.

She waited until he'd stopped, ready with a tissue and the glass of water. "Here."

"Thanks." He wiped at his lips, then his eyes, before sipping gingerly. "I can't seem to get the taste of mud out of my mouth," he complained.

"It'll pass."

"You'd better be right. And I will be extremely pissed if I lose my amazing baritone through this."

She half-smiled. "I'm sure it'll be fine." She didn't mention the mauling he'd given the show tune that morning. _That_ morning – damn, but had it only been such a short time before? "You know, you really should have gone to the hospital."

"I hate them almost as much as you do."

"Too many visits?"

"I've never exactly been a 'safe' sort of guy."

"No. I think I realised that the first time you followed me into a potential crime scene in that ridiculous vest."

"Hey, I was working!"

"No, _I_ was working. You were disobeying orders."

He smiled, then tugged the blanket closer around him as a shiver ran through his frame. "Anyway, it wasn't always me. Alexis went through a phase when she was about eight of seeming to end up in the emergency room at least once a month."

"Oh?"

"Mmn. She came off her bike twice, fell down the stairs at school ..." His eyes half-closed as he remembered. "... and one of her fellow pupils stabbed her in the arm with a pencil once."

"I'm surprised Child Services didn't want to take her away."

"Me too. But they must have realised it was just a natural result of growing taller and not having total control over her body yet."

"And being stabbed in the arm?"

"I think that was an argument over a boy. Or a pencil case."

Kate smiled. "Is that why you don't like Josh? Because he's a doctor?"

"No. My ... uh ... dislike is a lot more personal."

"You're jealous."

"God, yes."

"At least you're honest."

"Better make a note of that in your diary – it's not likely to happen again for a while."

"Oh? I thought you weren't planning on hiding behind a lie anymore."

"You mean us?"

"Yes."

He looked down at his hands, rubbing at a microdot of mud stuck at the base of his right thumb. "Yes, well, I've given up hiding over that."

"Me too." She leaned over and put her hand under his chin, lifting his head so his mouth was at a level with hers, and kissed him. When she released him he had a look of shocked surprise on his face.

"Kate ..."

"You wanted to earlier," she pointed out.

"I know ... and I still do, but ... you mentioned Josh, so I thought ..." He pulled himself together. "I didn't think you wanted to. Not with him still being in your life."

"Yes, I mentioned Josh. And I won't do anything behind his back."

"No. No, I can see that." Sadness crossed his very blue eyes.

"So I'll tell him we're over. If you can wait."

"Wait?" His voice seemed to go almost supersonic, and he coughed quickly before shaking his head, as if trying to clear his ears because he wasn't sure he'd heard right, then repeated, "Wait?"

"For me to tell Josh."

"You mean ..."

She took his hand, rubbing the back of it with the ball of her thumb. "I mean."

The rain might still have been drumming on the roof of the cabin, and the sun still had several hours before it even attempted to push up from behind the mountains, but his face was shining so brightly he might as well have stepped into brilliant daylight. "Kate ..."

"You were right, you know," she went on quickly. "It isn't going to be easy, you and me. We're probably going to fight it every step of the way ... well, me more than you ... but it might be worth it."

"Oh, it will."

"But I don't cheat. I never have, and I'm not about to start, not even for you, Castle."

He let her get away with it, with not using his first name, because now it didn't matter. "No, and that's fine. Honestly."

"Good." She smiled. "Is it me or has it got colder?"

He grinned and lifted the blanket, letting her scoot against his side before wrapping them both around her.

* * *

><p>Next morning Rick was having an admittedly awkward conversation with his mother. Whilst she and Alexis were overjoyed that Kate was actually alive and almost unharmed, Martha was extremely annoyed that he hadn't let them know earlier.<p>

"I didn't know myself when you left," he insisted.

"_No, you're not that good an actor. But you should have called when you found out."_

"Mother, I was under strict instructions not to. From Jordan Shaw." He could imagine her surprised expression all too well. "I wasn't about to disobey the FBI."

"_Why not? You've never obeyed rules in your life."_

"Yes, but it wasn't _my_ life I was dealing with."

"_Are you sure she's okay?" _She was concerned now, her anger deflected at least for a while.

"She's fine. We'll be on our way home in an hour or so."

"_We'll be there. Hold on, Alexis wants a word."_

"No, wait, you –" But he couldn't get the whole sentence out before his daughter had obviously snatched the phone.

"_Dad. Are you okay? No bullet holes or knife wounds?"_

"No, sweetheart," he assured her warmly. "You won't be inheriting my fortune quite yet."

"_Dad!"_

He grinned. "No, I'm fine. Honestly." He wasn't about to mention the near drowning, not make them worried all over again.

"_So the black clothes I bought have to go back?"_

"Were they expensive?"

"_Very. Gram helped."_

A laugh bubbled up past his still-sore throat. "I'm sure you'll find a use for them. But you don't have to come home. Stay in the Hamptons. Enjoy yourself."

"_We're coming back."_ Alexis could be as single-minded as himself sometimes. Or Kate. But at least Kate had an excuse.

"Is the sun out?"

"_Yes."_

"Is it hot?"

"_Yes, but –"_

"Is the sea cool?"

"_Dad, we're coming back."_ She wasn't going to budge.

"Fine. Just don't say I didn't try to make you stay when you're immersed in boring school work again."

"_School work isn't boring."_

"It must have changed since I went."

"_Besides, Ashley invited me to a concert at ... the ..." _Her voice faded away.

"So that's it?" He shook his head, even though she couldn't see. "Mot really worried about your old man but wanting to go on a date with your boyfriend?" This time she could picture her sheepish yet adorably winning smile. "Okay. Have it your way."

"_Thanks, Dad. We'll be home this afternoon."_

"I might not be."

"_Dad."_

They chatted for a few moments more, then he broke the connection, feeling more relaxed than he had in a good long while. Getting to his feet he went to slip his phone back into his jacket, then came to a full stop. "Oh. Hi."

Kate was standing at the bottom of the stairs, smiling at him. "Hi."

"What?"

"Alexis?"

He nodded. "And Mother. They send their love."

"That's nice." Still she didn't move, just stood with an odd, almost wistful expression on her face.

"What?"

"It's nice."

"What is?"

"Seeing you with your family. Even at a remove."

He sighed theatrically. "Then I behave like a twelve year old on a sugar rush, and undo all that good work. I know."

"Did I say that?"

"You have before."

"Castle ... Rick ... What you did for me, what you've done for me here –"

He held up a hand. "Stop."

"What?"

His happiness was draining out of him like rainwater down a sewer, but he managed to keep that smile on his face. "This sounds like goodbye. You've rethought what you said last night."

Kate closed her eyes briefly. "No." She gazed back at him. "Damn it, Rick, will you let me finish? I'm trying to pay you a compliment here."

"You are?" He couldn't be more surprised.

"Yes. Just don't get used to it."

"Kate, honey, it will be engraved on my heart." He let a beat go by. "When I know what it is."

"It's ... thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Thank you for being you. I don't know anyone else who'd have been quite so zealous."

"You know, I'm not sure that _is_ a compliment."

"Then ... determined."

"Better. Just. But don't you think Josh would have looked after you?"

"Yes. But he'd have wanted to wrap me in cotton wool, and he'd never have let me work this out. Let alone found me a murder board," she added, nodding towards where the whiteboard was leaning against the wall, ready to be put back into the dark under the stairs once more now it was wiped clean.

"That's what friends are for," Rick said.

"Except you're not. Not just a friend, I mean."

"No. I'm not." There was a pause, a pregnant moment when the whole of his life seemed to be resting on a knife edge, ready for him to either cut himself to ribbons or fall crashing to his death on the rocks of reality below.

Then she stepped closer and took his hand, his fingertips in hers. "I'll talk to him, as soon as we get back."

"Are you sure?" _Shut up!_ the little voice in the back of his head was saying, kicking him in the brain for emphasis. _She's made her choice, idiot! Don't jinx it now ..._

"I'm sure." She smiled. "But there's one condition."

"Anything."

"No more sex with Meredith."

"You did too?"

She hit him with her free hand, only this time it was gently in the middle of his chest. "Promise."

"I promise." She was so close, so beautiful, he wanted to kiss her ... oh, what the hell. He swept her into his arms and pressed his lips softly onto hers.

"Rick ..." she managed to say eventually.

He ran his fingertip down her cheek. "Kate, believe me, there won't be anyone else."

Kate remembered a conversation she'd had with Maggie once, how Rick had never been unfaithful, not in any of his relationships, despite his reputation. "I do believe you." Still, she had to add, "Besides, I still sleep with a gun, and I don't intend sharing."

His eyes glazed a moment. "Um ... a threesome ..." This time it was a pinch and much harder. "Ow."

"Serves you right."

He chuckled, then groaned as she moved slightly against him. "You know, if we stay like this much longer I won't be responsible for my actions."

She smiled again, warm and full of promise. "We can't have that." She stepped back, and he felt ... not exactly bereft, but definitely cooler. "Come on," she went on. "We'd better get back to the city."

Outside in the clean air now the rain had finally stopped, they walked to the car, Rick dropping the suitcases into the trunk before slamming it closed with a satisfying _thunk_. "Ready?" he asked.

She looked back at the cabin, then around at the scenery. "You know, it's really a nice place," she said. "It would have been nice to stay longer."

"We could. If you wanted."

"We've got work to get back to. And your mother and Alexis would kill both of us if you weren't home in time for supper."

"True." He opened the passenger door for her. "We could always come back for our honeymoon. Ow."

"Just for that I'm driving," she said, walking around to the driver's side.

"So things are back to normal?" he asked.

She smiled at him over the top of the car. "Almost, Rick. Almost."

* * *

><p>The drive back from Quarter Lake was almost as quiet as the upward journey, although at least this time Kate was awake. Not that it made her talkative.<p>

Rick, on the other hand, tried to fill the silence, talking about the new book, what he had in mind for Nikki Heat and Jameson Rook, although in the end even he acknowledged defeat and lapsed into silence, only occasionally commenting on things out of the window.

It wasn't until they passed the turning for Dobbs Ferry that Kate roused herself.

"Sorry," she said.

"It's okay."

"It's just ... it's done."

"Yes."

"I can't believe it."

"It's not surprising. But how do you feel?"

"Empty."

"Really?"

"It's been the most important thing for over a third of my life. Now it's ... gone." Kate shrugged. "What do I do now?"

"Let someone love you."

She bit her lip. "If only I could find someone ... ow."

"Serves you right."

"I could arrest you for that. Assaulting a police officer."

"Ooh, handcuffs." His face brightened. "Just remember, my safe word is –"

"Apples. I know."

"That's so cute."

"Not really. You tell me so often, I doubt I'll ever forget."

They laughed together, easy in each other's company again, and it wasn't until Kate brought the car to halt at the sidewalk that Rick realised they weren't at either his or her apartment.

"Kate?" he asked.

"It's Josh's place."

He looked up at the brownstone building. "You're going to do this now?"

"Might as well get it over with." At his surprised glance she went on, "I don't want him believing there's a future for us. It's not fair, and I owe it to him."

"You want me to come up with you?"

"No. Thanks, but no. This is something I need to do by myself."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. But I appreciate the concern."

"It's not concern," he said, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her fingertips then let go, sure in the knowledge that he'd be able to do it again.

* * *

><p>It was hard. She'd almost hoped that he'd be at work, that despite what she'd said she could put it off for a few hours, but against the odds he was there, a tea towel in his hands that he tossed away as soon as he realised who was at the door, reaching out for her. She let him hold her, but he knew immediately something was wrong.<p>

It only took a few minutes for him to ask, "This is it, isn't it?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "Yes."

"You and Castle." He thrust his hands deep into his jeans pockets.

"I didn't ... but yes."

"I love you."

"I know. And I love you."

"But not enough."

"No."

"Kate, if you're pushing me away because you think I might get hurt –"

"You're not a cop."

"Neither is he."

"He's my partner."

"And I wanted to marry you."

She shook her head, wondering why she wasn't surprised at this revelation, or whether it was just that she didn't really believe him. "No, you didn't. You don't, not really. You want to spend your life doing all those exciting things being married to a cop would stop you doing."

"You didn't have to stay in the force."

"Yes, I do. It's what I am. NYPD. It's probably engraved on my heart."

"I don't want to have to find that out, Kate. If you get hurt again –"

"Job description, Josh." She moved closer, enough so that she could smell the aftershave he used. Clean, and somehow cold. Not like Castle's, all warm and comforting. "And it's time."

"It doesn't have to be." He pulled his hands from his pockets and cupped her face. "Now it's all over, we can take time, be with each other –"

"What, when you're back from your next Doctors Without Borders assignment?" She smiled sadly, turned her head enough so that she could put a kiss on his palm. "Long distance relationships don't work."

"They do if you make them."

"You have to want it enough."

"And you don't."

"No." She stepped back, leaving his hands empty and clutching at thin air.

He closed his eyes and gulped, arms dropping back to his sides before looking at her again. "Then I wish you all the best."

"Thanks."

"And tell Castle ... he's a lucky bastard."

"I'm the lucky one."

"You think?" He laughed, just a low rumble. "If I didn't know you had twenty-twenty vision I'd suggest you go see an optometrist." He turned away from her, going to the door. "Are you going to be okay?"

"I'll probably cry. Eat a whole pack of cookies. Something like that."

"No. Not Kate Beckett. She's too strong for that." He paused, giving her one last chance. "Are you sure? Because I'll wait."

"No." She moved closer, her hand going to rest on his. "Move on. Take that assignment in Somalia. Go be the hero."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not the hero, Kate."

"Yes. Yes, you are. And just you remember that." She kissed his cheek, but at the same time pressed on his hand so the door opened.

He stepped back, breaking the connection forever. "Be good to yourself, Kate."

"I'll try."

He smiled again, just a little. "'Bye, Kate."

"'Bye."

And she was gone, nothing left but a drift of her perfume that died as he breathed it in.

* * *

><p>"You okay?" Rick asked, picking his way through the traffic. She hadn't even argued when he'd opened the passenger door for her.<p>

"I'm fine."

"It can't have been easy."

"It wasn't."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"O-kay." He concentrated on getting the hire care around a double-parked delivery truck, then heard her sigh. He glanced across at her. "Kate?"

"Sorry," she said quietly. "It shouldn't take it out on you. I just ... I didn't want to hurt him."

"It happens. We hurt the people we care about, often without even realising."

"I knew what I was doing."

"And better it was now than in a few weeks or months, when you're both unhappy but neither of you wants to be the one to break it off."

"That sounds like the voice of experience."

"It is."

"It's still hard."

"Hey, if it was easy we wouldn't need divorce lawyers." He smiled and was rewarded by one in return. "Okay. Where do you want to go?"

"Home."

He nodded. "Okay. I can do that. Your apartment it is." He licked his lips. "You know, you could always come home with me."

"I could," she agreed, "but Martha and Alexis are going to be there."

"They'd love to see you."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing them, but ... not quite yet."

"Then ... yes, of course."

"Good."

He braked for a red light. "Good?"

"Besides, what I was thinking of might be a bit awkward if your family were in the other room."

This time he turned in his seat to stare at her, only slightly hampered by the seat belt. "Katherine Beckett, are you intending to seduce me?"

She just smiled, allowing her tongue to dart out and wet her lips. Maybe she hadn't been intending that, at least not right away, but now the words were out there, even in jest, she found herself warming to the idea.

A honk from a yellow cab behind them indicated the light had turned green, and Rick quickly put the car once more into gear, his foot pressing perhaps a little too firmly on the gas.

* * *

><p>On the pretext that she was still technically an invalid, Rick carried the garish suitcase up to her apartment.<p>

As she straightened from unlocking and opening the door, she asked, "Do you want to come in?"

"I don't know."

She turned to look at him in surprise. "I'm asking."

"I'm not sure you're ready. I don't want to pressure you."

Kate had had enough. "Oh, shut up." She pulled him inside by the front of his jacket, her mouth locked to his.

By the time they reached the bedroom, Rick could feel passion raging through him, and it took all of his willpower to push her away, even a little, and ask, "Are you sure about this?"

Her clear eyes, now hooded with desire, gazed into his. "Am I going to be just another notch on your bedpost?" she countered.

"No. Am I? Because if this is just some kind of consolation f-"

"Rick." She kissed him again, much lighter this time, her tongue sketching across his lips, and it made the flames within him roar even higher. "I don't know where this is going, or what we'll find when we get there, but we're on the journey now, and I intend enjoying every minute."

His mouth widened into a smile, then a grin, and he reached down to scoop her up into his arms, carrying her to the bed. He placed her gently down, her hair fanning out on the pillow, then lay down next to her, the length of his body all along hers. "Kate."

"Take off your shoes," she said.

He laughed as he kicked them off, hearing them land somewhere on the floor. "Are you always going to order me about?"

"Yes."

"Good." He claimed her mouth, his left hand pushing under the thin t-shirt around her back, and with a snap undoing her bra.

Her eyes widened. "How did you ..."

The chuckle was deeper this time, more sensual. "Many hours practise with a pillow and one of my mother's discards when I was a lot younger." He kissed the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. "You'd be amazed what I know. And can do with both hands."

Her fingers entwined in his hair. "Don't talk about your mother."

"She always said I should kiss you while we were both still young enough to enjoy it." That practised left hand was now at her jeans, flicking the button and gently pulling down the zipper. He stroked her belly as his tongue plundered the dip above her collarbone before pressing down.

She gasped slightly, then pulled at his top, needing as much flesh contact as possible. "All right, Richard Castle," she said breathily. "Amaze me."

So he did.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Later<strong>_ ...

"You're right," she said, lying in his arms, her fingers tracing circles in his damp chest hair.

"I am?" He stroked her shoulder.

"I'm going to be hell to be in a relationship with."

"We already are."

"What?" She glanced up at him.

"In a relationship. Oh, not this. Before." He smiled gently at her. "Kate, we see more of each other that most married couples. I've seen you happy, sad, and everything in between. I think I can cope."

"How about working together?"

He stopped in his stroking, almost holding his breath. "Do you want us to stop? Because I wasn't planning on giving up. Were you?"

"No. I just wondered if it would make a difference."

"I'm sure it will. Mainly because I'm going to have trouble keeping my hands off you."

"That could be interesting, especially when I'm interrogating a suspect."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Much later<strong>_ ...

"Are you staying?"

"Can I?"

"If you want."

"I want."

"Won't Martha and Alexis be wondering where you are?"

"I'll text. They'll be over the moon we've finally stopped being stupid."

"It wasn't stupid."

"Not having what we want?"

"There were reasons."

"That now seem somewhat ridiculous in the cold light of day."

"It's not daylight, and they weren't ridiculous."

"Are we having our first fight as a couple?"

"Yes."

"Good. Because I hear make-up sex is the best of all ..."

* * *

><p><em><strong>As daylight filtered through the curtains<strong>_ ...

"Are you asleep?"

"Mmn."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Only I wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"Only I don't want to keep you from sleeping."

"Just tell me."

"Okay."

"So?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Kate."

* * *

><p><strong>Epilogue<strong>:

"Not sure I can do this," Kate said quietly as they rode the elevator up to homicide. "I lied to them all ..."

Rick held her tightly. "Kate, my Kate ... they understand. They know why, and believe me, they'd have supported you if they'd been aware earlier."

She looked into his blue eyes. "You've got a lot of faith in them, Castle."

She was often going to call him that, at least until she started to forget.

"So do you. It's why you're a cop."

"Rick –"

"Not why you _became_ a cop, but why you are still. And a damn good one. You have faith in people being mostly good, and that they deserve to live in peace. So you chase the bad guys who threaten that peace."

She gazed at him for a long time. "Is that speech a reject from _Heat Rises_?" she asked, quite deadpan.

He pinched her, and for once she was the one yelping. She grinned just as the elevator slowed. "Stay with me?" she asked, suddenly unsure.

"Always."

The smile was more genuine now, and as the doors opened he could see her buckle her armour back on, ready to show the world just how capable she was.

He didn't mind, not any more. He knew what was inside, and that was his. For all his money and fame, that was enough, and he'd gladly give them both up to keep it.

Applause erupted as they stepped out into Homicide, every officer – uniformed or plain clothes – in the precinct seeming to fill the floor. Above them a banner fluttered, the legend 'Welcome Home, Detective Beckett' on it in proud black letters. Right at the front stood Ryan and Esposito, clapping harder than anyone. Even Lanie was there, and ... "Perlmutter?" Kate breathed from the side of her mouth.

"He always did have a soft spot for you," Rick replied, his own lips barely moving. He gave her a gentle push in the small of her back. "Go on."

She shot him a glare – which unaccountably warmed him through with its normalcy – but moved smoothly into the crowd, shaking hands and accepting so many slaps on the back she was sure she was going to have bruises. Lanie hugged her.

"You haven't killed Esposito yet for not telling you?" Kate whispered.

"He hasn't even begun to pay for it yet," Lanie promised, keeping her voice equally low.

Kate laughed, caught away by somebody else who wanted to pump her hand.

Eventually she reached her desk, and someone shouted, "Speech!" The cry was taken up and she looked to Rick for support, but he only shrugged.

Taking a deep breath she held up her hands to call for quiet.

"No speeches," she said firmly. "No heroes. Just cops. It's enough."

Rick started slightly, hearing his own thoughts echo back to him, but he stepped forward. "Okay, people. She's back and you can be sure she's not going anywhere. So everyone had better get back to work." He added quickly, "And the drinks are on the house at the Old Haunt this evening."

There was a good-natured muttering, mostly comments about who'd made him Chief of Police, but the crowd thinned out until only a handful remained.

"Glad you're back," Perlmutter said. "Maybe you can keep this pair in line." He cracked what might have been a smile then walked out.

"See," Lanie said. "I told you, girl."

Kate shook her head. "He's just glad he didn't have to do another autopsy."

"Got that right." Lanie hugged her again. "Well, I've got a cold body getting warm on my slab right now, so I'll see you later, okay?"

"I don't –"

"Later." Lanie turned pointedly from her best friend to her boyfriend. "You too."

"You can bet on that, _chiquita_." He kissed her lightly then patted her on the behind as she sashayed towards the elevator.

Kate hid the smile, thinking Esposito maybe shouldn't be looking forward to the encounter as much as he was, but didn't comment.

"Jenny wanted to come but I said no," Ryan commented. "But she'll join us later down at the Old Haunt."

"Fine."

"She's just glad you're alive."

"Me too." Kate looked down at her desk.

"We tried to put it all back the way you had it, but it was all packed away," Ryan went on.

"It's fine."

"Because if it needs moving –"

"Bro." Esposito stopped him. "Come on. We've got work to do." He steered his partner away.

"They care," Rick said quietly.

"I know. I just didn't expect all ... this." She gestured towards the banner.

"Hey, this was subtle compared to what they wanted to do. You have no idea how long I had to argue about not getting the male stripper."

"Then thanks."

He waited a heartbeat, then said, "Aren't you going to sit down?"

"Not sure."

"Only it'll be tiring, standing all day."

"Not sure it's still mine."

"It's got your stuff. You might have to adjust the chair again, but ..." He picked up a stack of pink message slips. "See?" he said, waving them at her. "People want to speak to you."

"Probably telling me my pension's cancelled."

"Stick with me, kid, you'll be fine."

This time it was the eye roll. Still, she slowly lowered herself into her chair, spending some time making fine adjustments.

He waited until she was happy with the results, then sat down himself, feeling like all was right with the world. "So," he said, his natural confidence shining back through again, "now what? A juicy murder? Body found in unnatural circumstances in a cornfield? Hey, maybe it's a cereal killer!"

She fixed him with her clear eyes. "That's bad taste."

"Too soon?" He reached over and put his hand on hers. "Gotta get back on that horse, Kate."

She wanted to argue, he could see, but instead she extricated her fingers and took the pink slips. Quickly scanning them she said, "Mostly wanting to check I'm still alive. Although ..." She stilled.

"What? What is it?"

"The new captain wants to see me." She exhaled. "Straight away."

"Honestly, she seems okay," Rick assured her.

Ryan, on his way past to get a coffee, stopped. "Actually it's not Gabrielle Cleaves. She's gone back to her own precinct. This is our _new_ new captain."

"And?" Kate prompted.

"She's ..." Ryan couldn't find the right words, and instead lifted his mug. "Coffee?"

"Sure."

The Irishman hurried off, leaving both Kate and Rick curious.

"She wasn't out here to say hi," the author murmured.

"She's a new captain. Probably wants to do things by the book."

"I hope you're right."

At that moment the door to the captain's office – conspicuously closed until now – was opened, and a female voice erupted. "Detective Beckett. Mr Castle. If you've quite finished ..."

Kate stood up, straightening her jacket. Rick joined her, touching her arm lightly, reassuring her as well as himself.

"Ah well, she said. "Into the lion's den."

"Together, Kate. Like always."

She flashed him a warm smile. "I don't mind at all."


End file.
